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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23232496">Obsession</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ekwtsm/pseuds/ekwtsm'>ekwtsm</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Streets of San Francisco</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 12:41:16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>98</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>205,697</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23232496</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ekwtsm/pseuds/ekwtsm</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>For all of us in these trying times...  a little diversion...</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The uniformed officer stepped closer to the passenger side door of the tan LTD as it opened and the  grim-faced, fedora-clad lieutenant climbed out, acknowledging his grey-haired colleague with a curt nod.  </p><p>“Lieutenant,” Sergeant Casselman grunted, frowning, as Mike Stone slammed the door and fell into step beside him as they started across the sidewalk and up the short set of concrete steps towards the open front door of the large, obviously expensive house.</p><p>Behind his dark glasses, Inspector Steve Keller glanced up and down 25th Street, the normally quiet tree-lined avenue now crowded with cruisers and uniformed officers as he followed his partner.  It was an unusual scene in the upscale Sea Cliff neighbourhood, he knew; they were not used to seeing so many police cars on their streets.  Several uniformed officers were keeping the ever-growing crowd of concerned neighbours at bay.</p><p>“This is a bad one, Mike,” Casselman acknowledged as they mounted the stairs and, passing between the two officers guarding the front door, stepped into the large foyer.</p><p>With a quiet nod, glancing over his shoulder to make sure Steve was behind him, Mike led the way into the living room.  The younger man had taken off his glasses and stuffed them into the breast pocket of his brown tweed jacket.  Casselman remained near the front door as the two Homicide officers moved slowly into the living room of the exquisitely appointed home.  “No one’s been in here since the first two responding officers cleared the place…” he informed them as moved slowly deeper into the house.  “The lab boys are on their way…”</p><p>Without looking back, Mike nodded his acknowledgement as they stopped just shy of the huge Persian rug that almost filled the large room.  Steve could hear his partner inhale deeply as they took in the scene before them.</p><p>A dark-haired woman about Steve’s age, wearing a brown and beige paisley shift and black flats lay on her right side, almost in a fetal position, on the rug in front of the large floral sofa.  Her head was turned up, her dry milky-white eyes staring unseeing at the ceiling.  There was a large bloodstain on her chest and a small pool on the rug underneath her.</p><p>In the nearby recliner sat a dark-haired man of a similar age, wearing a yellow golf shirt, beige shorts, sandals and black-rimmed glasses.  His left arm was resting in his lap, his right dangling over the side of the chair; his head was down, his chin on his chest, an obvious bullet wound on the right side of head at the temple.</p><p>Steve got down on his hands and knees and put the side of his head against the floor, looking across the rug.  He studied it for several beats before getting back to his feet, glancing at the older man beside him.  “I can’t see any prints but I’ll leave that for the lab guys.”</p><p>Pursing his lips, his eyes not leaving the disturbing scene before them, Mike nodded.  He turned his head slightly and in a flash Casselman was once more beside him.  The sergeant nodded towards the far side of the room.  “This way…” he said softly and started around the edge of the rug towards a hallway to their right.</p><p>Silently, the three police officers, the sergeant leading the way, moved down the short corridor to the last door on the right.  Casselman stopped and looked back at the detectives.  His mouth a grim line, he raised his eyebrows and tilted his head.  Taking a deep breath, he pushed the white door open then took a step back into the hallway, averting his eyes, allowing the other two to step into the doorway.</p><p>A baby crib stood against the far wall.  From the doorway, and from the light streaming in through the open curtains of the large window, they could see the small unmoving body and the shocking deep red stain on the light blue onesie and white blanket in the middle of the crib.  Mike inhaled sharply and held his breath; his jaw clenched.  Steve closed his eyes and dropped his head, his hands balling into fists.</p><p>The faint sound of a siren reached their ears.  </p><p>The older man sighed loudly, not taking his eyes from the crib.  He took a step back and looked at the sergeant, who was staring at the floor, his anger obvious in every fibre of his tense body.</p><p>“Let’s get out of here and let the lab guys do their job,” the lieutenant said quietly and Casselman nodded, falling into step between the two detectives as Mike led the way back into living room.  As they crossed around the rug towards the door, they heard the siren fall silent; stepping out into the bright morning sunshine, they watched as both doors of the black van opened and two lab techs circled to the back of the van and opened the doors.</p><p>“I’ve got this,” Cssselman said as he stepped off the stairs and started towards the van.  </p><p>“Who was first on the scene?” Mike asked to the retreating sergeant.  </p><p>Casselman looked back.  “Porter and Washington.”  He nodded towards two uniformed officers standing near the black-and-white parked at the curb directly in front of the house before continuing on to the black van.</p><p>With a nod, Mike, his partner behind him, jogged down the steps and crossed to the curb.  “Porter and Washington?”, he asked and the two large, well-built officers turned towards him.  It was obvious they were both rattled by what they had witnessed.  </p><p>“Yes, sir,” the black patrolman responded and Mike glanced at his nameplate.  </p><p>“Officer Washington, I’m Lieutenant Stone, Homicide -“ Mike began but Washington cut him off with a soft smile and a glance at Porter.</p><p>“We know who you are, sir,” he said with a respectful nod.</p><p>Mike managed a tiny smile of his own as he glanced at Steve, then nodded his thanks.  “Ah, can you walk us through what you found when you got here?”</p><p>Porter nodded.  “Yes, sir.  Well, we got a call from dispatch that a lady had reported finding three bodies in a house.  We were just a few blocks away and we got here pretty fast.”  The young blond officer paused and took a deep breath.  He looked shaken.</p><p>Washington, realizing his partner’s difficulty, picked up the narrative after shooting the younger man a concerned glance.  “Ah, when we got here those two ladies over there…”.  He pointed to his right and both detectives turned their heads to see a middle-aged blond woman and a younger Hispanic woman, both of them still looking distraught, being interviewed by another uniformed officer.  When Mike looked back, nodding, Washington continued, “And they said they’d found three bodies in the house.  They’d gone in the back door when they got no response; they said they thought something was wrong when no one answered the door when they got here around 9.”</p><p>“Who are they?” Steve asked, gesturing towards the women with a tilt of his head.</p><p>Porter, who had pulled himself together, cleared his throat.  “Ah, the blond woman is a neighbour,” he pointed at the large house across the street, “and younger woman is her housekeeper.”</p><p>Nodding, Mike focused on the younger patrolman, knowing from long experience that keeping him talking would help him start to come to grips with what he had just witnessed.  “What did you do when you got here?”</p><p>“Well, we, ah, we entered the house through the back door that the neighbour used… the front door was still locked.  We found the man and woman in the living room - they were both obviously deceased, and then we checked out all the other rooms.  That’s when we found, ah… we found the baby…”  Porter’s face began to crumble again and Washington’s hand shot out, grabbing his forearm and squeezing.  </p><p>The black patrolman looked at the detectives and raised his eyebrows.  “He and his wife just had a baby,” he said almost under his breath, and both detectives nodded sympathetically.  </p><p>Mike took a half-step forward and put a hand on Porter’s shoulder.  “That’s okay, son, we can take it from here.”  He looked at Washington and half-smiled.  “Why don’t you two finish up with your shift commander and go back downtown?”</p><p>Washington flashed him a grateful smile, pulling his partner towards their car as Mike and Steve turned back towards the house.  The lab techs had already disappeared inside; the crime scene photographer had arrived while they had been talking to the patrolmen and was also in the house.</p><p>Mike glanced at his partner as they crossed to the steps.  Steve could see the fury behind the blue eyes and knew the older man was keeping a very tight hold on his emotions right now.  In all the years they had been together, Steve knew that nothing disturbed and enraged his partner more than the murder of a child.  And until they discovered and arrested whoever was responsible, he knew Mike wouldn’t rest.  He could only hope it would be sooner than later.</p><p>As they got to the door, Steve heard another vehicle approach.  He turned to see the black Coroner’s van pull up and stop as close to the curb as possible.  He reached out and grabbed Mike’s sleeve, pulling the older man up short.  As Mike turned, Steve pointed at the new arrival and he felt rather than saw his partner deflate in frustration.</p><p>Bernie had taken a year-long sabbatical to study forensic pathology at Scotland Yard in London, and the police chief and mayor had been beside themselves when they had announced that the renowned former Chief Medical Examiner for the City and County of Los Angeles, John G. McDonnell, had agreed to come out of retirement to man the position on an interim basis.</p><p>McDonnell and Mike didn’t get along, and hadn’t since the first time they met.  It wasn’t even over a case, Steve mused; it was just a departmental meet-and-greet but the animosity between the two men was obvious from the get-go.  When asked about it later, Mike had confessed that he couldn’t put his finger on a reason but he just didn’t trust the man.  Gut instinct, he had put it down to, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that it was going to be a rocky year for the Homicide squad if the heads of both departments didn’t get along.  Up until now, Mike had let Steve handle any dealings with the coroner’s office, but both of them knew that this case would probably be different.</p><p>They watched as the driver’s door opened and Peter Murphy, Bernie’s assistant, slid out of the van.  Both detectives instinctively exhaled in relief.  </p><p>“I hear this is a bad one,” Murphy smiled woodenly as he joined them on the landing outside the front door.  </p><p>Steve nodded.  “Yeah, there’s a baby in there.”</p><p>Murphy closed his eyes and clenched his jaw.  “God damn it,” he muttered quietly then opened his eyes and looked at Mike.  “Where do you want me to start, Lieutenant?”</p><p>Mike, whose silence was speaking volumes, nodded over his shoulder towards the house.  “Start with the husband.  You’re gonna have to wait till the lab boys are finished with the carpet but I want you to start with him.”</p><p>Murphy nodded.  “Okay.”  Taking a deep breath, he stepped over the threshold and into the house.</p><p>The detectives hesitated on the landing.  They knew they had to wait till the lab techs were finished and all the photographs taken before they could start to break the scene down.</p><p>Steve looked at his partner.  “So, ah, from what we’ve seen so far, what do you think?”</p><p>Staring into space, his thoughts obviously in the nursery and the horror that awaited them there, Mike turned his incredibly sad blue eyes on the younger man.  “First blush?”, he asked rhetorically.  “Well, it looks like a murder-suicide to me.”  He paused and swallowed heavily.  “But what kind of monster kills his own baby?”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>After a quick briefing from Casselman, who had filled them in on the identities of the deceased, and having to wait for the lab techs to finish with their careful examination of the carpet before they could study the scene, their next step was to interview the neighbours who had found the bodies.</p><p>Mike had his star and I.D. in hand as he and Steve approached the two still distraught women waiting near the curb with a patrolman.  Mike glanced at the uniform with a ‘We’ll take over now’ nod and, with an empathetic glance at the women, the officer backed away.</p><p>“I’m Lieutenant Stone, this is Inspector Keller,” he introduced, sliding the leather case back into his pants pocket as Steve nodded.  “We know this is a difficult time but we need to ask you a few questions, if that’s all right?”</p><p>The middle-aged blond woman, a tissue crumpled in her right hand which was up near her mouth, her eyes red-rimmed, nodded quickly.  Breathing through her nose, she sniffed loudly. “Yes, of course…”</p><p>“Thank you.”  Mike smiled encouragingly.  “You are…?”</p><p>The woman flustered.  “Oh, ah, Marjorie Taylor… I live across the street…”  She pointed to the large beige stucco house on the other side of the road then nodded at the younger Hispanic woman beside her.  “This is Carmen Moreno, my housekeeper.”</p><p>Both detectives acknowledged the information with grateful nods.  “You found the, ah, the Goodmans?” Steve asked gently and watched as both women visibly reacted.</p><p>Taylor nodded, clutching the tissue even tighter.  “Yes…. Yes, um, Jane had asked us to come by this morning to help her…”  She smiled almost involuntarily with a slight shudder.  “Um, their tenth anniversary is next week and she was planning a party.  We, ah, we knocked on the door but she didn’t come to open it.  I knew they were home, I knew something was wrong…”  She gasped, catching her breath.</p><p>Moreno, who had been staring at her employer with tear-filled eyes, looked at the detectives.  “We went around to the back of the house and the patio door was unlocked.  We went in…”. Her face crumpled and fresh tears flowed down her cheeks.  “That poor little boy…” she whispered, looking down.</p><p>Mike, nodding sympathetically, put a gentle hand on her forearm and squeezed.  He gave the women a moment to pull themselves together.  “The Goodmans… did they have a good marriage?”</p><p>Taylor’s head came up quickly, her eyes flashing.  “What?  Are you trying to suggest Charlie did this?”</p><p>Surprised at being sussed out so quickly, Mike smiled apologetically.  “I’m sorry but we have to ask…”</p><p>Taylor’s face softened.  “No, I’m sorry… I know you do….”  She shook her head.  “Charlie couldn’t do this… they had a wonderful marriage.”  She smiled wistfully.  “They married late and then Jane had trouble conceiving…. Robbie was a surprise, a very pleasant surprise, and they were over the moon, both of them…”  She looked from Mike to Steve and back again, her features hardening.  “Charlie wouldn’t kill his wife and baby… never…”</p><p>Mike nodded with a slight smile, encouraged by her adamance.  “What did Mr. Goodman do for a living?”</p><p>“He owns a…. He owned a financial advisory company.  He was very successful.”</p><p>“Do you know if he had any enemies, any clients that he maybe steered in the wrong direction?” Steve asked carefully, trying not to sound accusatory.</p><p>Taylor shook her head, frowning.  “I have no idea, but Jane never mentioned anything…”  She smiled sadly.  “But we, ah, we never discussed that kind of thing, I’m afraid…. Sorry I can’t be of much help.”</p><p>Mike smiled again.  “You’re doing fine.”</p><p>“Do they have any family in The City?” Steve asked, glancing from one woman to the other.  </p><p>Taylor nodded.  “Charlie has a sister in town, I know that.  Ellen.  And he has a brother that lives in Los Angeles.  Robert.”  She smiled wistfully again.  “Robbie was named for him…”  She whimpered and Mike touched her arm in sympathy.  “She, ah, she lives in Presidio Heights somewhere.  I’m not sure…”  She shrugged and both detectives nodded.  </p><p>“And Mrs. Goodman?” Mike prompted.</p><p>“She has a brother, Walter Northcott.  He and his wife live over in Marin somewhere.  Sausilito, I think but I could be wrong.”</p><p>“Did Mrs. Goodman and her brother get along?” Mike asked casually.</p><p>Taylor’s eyes narrowed and she hesitated.  “Yes… yes.  I mean, I’ve only met him a few times but he does come to visit. He was here the day before yesterday, visiting Robbie.  I saw him.  He was here for a couple of hours, and when I talked to Jane yesterday, she didn’t say anything was wrong, she just told me he came over for a visit.”  She shrugged.</p><p>“Would she have told you if there was something wrong?”  His blue eyes were boring into hers, belying the slight smile that curled his lips.</p><p>She tilted her head, studying him before she spoke.  “Jane and I were good friends… we talked about everything.  Yes, I think she would’ve told me.”</p><p>“Good,” Mike nodded.  </p><p>“Did either of you see anyone around the Goodman house yesterday?  Anybody you knew or didn’t know?” Steve asked, looking from one woman to the other.</p><p>Both of them shook their heads.  “No,” Moreno said, her focus turning inward as she tried to recall.  “I was here for several hours and I don’t remember seeing anyone over here…”</p><p>“Any strange vehicles in the neighborhood in the past few days?”</p><p>Again both women shook their heads.</p><p>“Mike!”  Casselman’s voice cut through the low murmur of the voices of the gathering throng of neighbours and the incongruous chirping of happy and oblivious birds.  Both detectives turned.  The sergeant was standing on the porch and he nodded over his shoulder into the house.</p><p>Mike turned back to the women.  “Thank you very much,” he said pleasantly.  “If we need anymore information, we’ll be in touch.”  He started to move away then turned back.  “I’m very sorry for your loss…”</p><p>Taylor looked into his soft blue eyes and nodded, bringing the wad of tissue to her mouth once more.  “Thank you…” she whispered.</p><p>The two detectives joined the sergeant on the landing.  “The techs have finished with the carpet.”  He shrugged noncommittally.  “They didn’t really get anything concrete… nothing they think they can use anyway.”</p><p>Nodding with a slightly frustrated sigh, Mike led the way over the threshold and into the living room.  Peter Murphy was on his knees beside the body of Mrs. Goodman.  He glanced up as the detectives entered the room.  “I’m done with him,” he said, nodding at the body in the chair.  “One gunshot to the right temple… bullet’s still in his head.  It’s only preliminary, of course, but I’d put the time of death between 8 and midnight last night.”  He glanced at the body on the floor.  “From the looks of her, she took one to the chest, but we’ll know more, of course, when the autopsy is done.”  He paused and looked down, as if composing himself.  “I, ah, I haven’t done the baby yet…”</p><p>Grim-faced, Mike nodded as he and Steve approached the easy chair.  Mike got down on his hands and knees and looked under the chair.  Murphy was watching him, frowning.</p><p>“Are you looking for a gun?”</p><p>Mike raised his head slightly and nodded.  </p><p>“I didn’t find one.  It could’ve slid down between him and the chair.  When we remove the body, we’ll be able to tell for sure but if you want to check right now, go ahead.  The pictures have all been taken.”</p><p>Getting to his feet, Mike glanced at Steve then stepped closer to the chair.  He slid his hand between the body and the inside of the chair arm, frowning and shaking his head at his partner when he found nothing.  He removed his hand and took a step back, staring at the body, trying to figure out where the gun could be.</p><p>“Lieutenant.”  </p><p>He looked up to see one of the lab techs standing in the hallway entrance.  </p><p>“Sir, there’s something I think you should see.”  The young man gestured over his shoulder with his head.</p><p>Mike glanced at his partner and took a deep breath.  As he started towards the hallway, he gathered Murphy with a glance.  “Peter…”</p><p>Almost reluctantly, the assistant coroner got to his feet and began to follow, glancing at Steve.  They could read each others minds; nobody wanted to face the devastatingly horrific scene in the nursery.  </p><p>Mike paused in the doorway, taking a deep breath before stepping into the room.  Colin Baer, the tech who had summoned them, stepped close to the crib, trying not to look at the small body on the mattress as he pointed through the crib rails at the wall.</p><p>The two detectives moved closer to the bed, following the pointed finger.  Just beyond the edge of mattress, in a direct line from the door and the baby’s head, was a hole in the drywall.</p><p>Frowning, Mike looked at Baer.  “A bullet hole?”</p><p>Baer tilted his head.  “Looks like that to me.  We’ll know for sure when Peter finishes with the body and we can move the crib.”</p><p>Mike looked at Murphy, who nodded.  “Let me finish with the woman and then I’ll… I’ll come in here…”</p><p>“Good.”  He dropped a hand on the obviously upset assistant M.E.’s shoulder and squeezed.  “Steve and I’ll wait till you’re done.”</p><p>With a grateful nod, Murphy left the room.  </p><p>After watching him go, Steve turned to his partner.  “So what do you think?”, the younger man asked.  “The shooter stood in the doorway?”</p><p>Mike inhaled deeply.  “That’s what it looks like, doesn’t it?  Like he didn’t have the nerve to get any closer…”  He looked at Baer.  “What can you tell us about the angle, Colin?”</p><p>The young tech looked from the hole in the wall to the door then at the lieutenant.  “Well, when Peter gets finished, we’ll be able to figure out the angle and I might be able to give you a projection on how tall the shooter might be.  But it’ll only be a guess, you realize, right?”</p><p>Mike nodded.  “If a guess is as good as we’re gonna get, I’ll take it.”</p><p>“Yeah…” Steve sighed heavily.  “So where did the gun go?”, he asked semi-rhetorically as they turned away from the crib and it’s disturbing contents and out into the hallway.</p><p>“Yeah…” Mike growled as they stepped back into the living room.  He stopped and looked around in frustration.  “Where is the damn gun…?”  He paused to glance around the room then at the front windows.  Frowning, he strode towards the still open front door and stepped out into the bright sunshine again, looking around.  Spotting Taylor and Moreno where he had left them, he almost jogged down the steps and approached them with a slight frown and a brief smile.</p><p>“Mrs. Taylor, a couple more questions if you don’t mind?”</p><p>The still upset woman nodded. “Of course…”</p><p>“Were you home last evening, say between 8 and midnight?”</p><p>Frowning, she nodded quickly.  “I was home all day.”</p><p>“Ah, do you remember hearing any loud noises?”, he asked gently, gesturing at the Goodman house with a tilt of his head.</p><p>She stared at him for a long second.  “You mean like gunshots?”, she asked almost breathlessly.  He nodded.  She shook her head sadly.  “No, Lieutenant, I didn’t, but they had a block party one street over last night and someone set off some firecrackers…”  She shrugged helplessly.</p><p>“What time was that, do you remember?” Steve asked.</p><p>Her stare turned inward briefly.  “Oh, ah, 9 o’clock maybe…at the latest I think.”</p><p>“Thank you,” Mike smiled, patting her upper arm.  “Thank you very much.”  He turned on his heel and started back towards the house, Steve falling into step beside him.  “Let’s get all the neighbors interviewed and see if they can agree on the time.  That’ll nail it down for us, I’m sure.”  He stopped on the porch and took a deep breath.  “Find out where Goodman’s sister and the wife’s brother live.  I want us to do the notifications.  And I want to go through Goodman’s business… find out if he really was a successful financial advisor.”  </p><p>He stopped and took a deep breath, then looked deep into his partner’s eyes.  “I want him, Steve, and I want him now…. I want to be the one that slaps the cuffs on the cold-hearted bastard that could kill a baby…”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Mike stood at the threshold of the front door, staring into the living room and watching the subdued but calmly professional demeanour of the forensic technicians working the scene.  The bodies had been processed and Murphy was waiting for a second coroner’s van to arrive before they could be removed. Steve and several uniformed officers were canvassing the neighbourhood, interviewing everyone they could find in the hopes that someone had seen something out of the ordinary the previous night that could help shed light on the mystery of the three deaths.</p><p>He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, letting it out in an angry rush.  He had watched from the doorway of the nursery as Murphy performed his initial examination of the tiny body of 17-month-old Robbie Goodman.  The obviously upset assistant medical examiner had performed his duties with remarkable restraint, narrating his findings to the lieutenant as he did so.  </p><p>He heard footsteps coming up the concrete walkway behind him and turned to see his partner approaching, his face unreadable.  As the younger man joined him on the small landing, Steve shrugged and shook his head.  “Nothing.  Most of the people I talked to were at the block party on the other street.  One woman down there,” he nodded to his left, “thought she saw a blue sedan parked in the Goodman’s driveway last night when she took her dog for a walk around ten but she didn’t think anything of it.  She has no idea what kind of car it was, other than it was light blue and a sedan. She said she’d never seen it before…”  He shrugged again with a frustrated sigh.</p><p>Mike nodded but said nothing.</p><p>“Oh, ah, I called in to the office.  Norm is tracking down Goodman’s sister and the wife’s brother and he’ll let Dispatch know when he gets the addresses… although they’re probably at work right now,” he added, automatically glancing at his watch.</p><p>“Good,” Mike nodded absently; he looked distracted.  “Ah, we need the phone number for that brother in Los Angeles too, right?”</p><p>Steve nodded, frowning.  He glanced into the living room.  “Did, ah, did Peter process the, ah, the nursery…?” he asked softly and watched as his partner nodded slowly, his eyes bright as he looked down.</p><p>“Yeah… yeah, he’s just, ah, he’s waiting for another van to arrive before they remove the bodies…”  Mike cleared his throat.  “It shouldn’t be too long.  I want to wait till they do that, then we’ll go make the notifications.”  He met the younger man’s eyes.  “Is that okay with you?”</p><p>Surprised by the question, Steve hesitated for a beat.  He knew Mike was rattled but he hadn’t realized how much.  “Yeah,” he agreed softly, “yeah, that sounds like a… that sounds good…”</p><p>The sound of an approaching vehicle caught their attention and they both turned to see a second black coroner’s van weave its way through the cruisers to park as close to the house as it could.  Both doors opened and two lab-coated men crossed to the rear and opened the back doors, removing a gurney with a green plastic mattress and folded grey blanket.</p><p>The two detectives stepped off the landing to allow access to the house.  Murphy was standing in the centre of the living room, and he directed his colleagues towards Charles Goodwin in the armchair.  It didn’t take long for the body to be removed and covered, the gurney on its way out the front door.</p><p>After it passed, Mike stepped back up onto the landing and entered the living room, going immediately to the chair, Steve right behind him.  The older detective ran his hand down both sides of the recliner, his mouth a grim line, then lifted the lever on right side and raised the footrest.  He got onto his hands and knees as Steve squatted and they both looked under and around the chair.  There was no gun.</p><p>Shaking his head in frustration, Mike pushed himself back to his feet as Steve straightened up.  “Well, I guess that rules out a murder-suicide, doesn’t it?” the older man growled, his teeth clenched.  </p><p>They waited, out of the way, as the M.E. assistants returned with a second gurney and removed the body of Jane Goodman.  Steve dropped to his knees and looked under the couch, shaking his head as he stood and looked at his partner.  </p><p>“Okay…” Mike said under his breath, “well, at least we know what we’re up against now…”<br/>He stood in the middle of the living room and looked around.  “So there’s no sign of a forced entry, which means they let in whoever killed them…. It has to be someone they knew, because who would let in a total stranger ten o’clock at night…”  He looked at the empty armchair.  “The husband was killed first.  If she had been, he would’ve stood up, tried to intervene, tried to save her…. He was killed first.”  He looked at the blood stain on the rug.  “She saw her husband die in front of her eyes and she stood up but the killer turned the gun on her…”  He took a deep breath.  “Then he went to the nursery…. He didn’t have the guts to actually go into the room so he shot from the door…. Then he walked out the back door and disappeared…”</p><p>Steve had stared at his partner’s impassive face as the older man spoke, nodding quietly.  “Yeah…” he breathed.</p><p>The third gurney was maneuvered through the front door and wheeled across the living room into the hallway towards the nursery, Murphy in tow.  Mike watched it go, biting his bottom lip.  He didn’t move.  </p><p>Standing perfectly still, no one made a sound when the gurney reappeared, a grey blanket covering the tiny body, crossing the living room slowly and sombrely to disappear out the front door.  Murphy stopped beside the lieutenant.  He cleared his throat.  “I’ll, ah, I’ll make sure to get the autopsy reports to you as soon as they’re completed.”</p><p>Mike nodded his thanks.  “Will you  be doing them?” He asked, knowing that Murphy was almost as good and definitely as thorough as Bernie.</p><p>Murphy shook his head.  “Not likely.  This is high-profile, you know that, Mike.  McDonnell will be handling these, I’ll guarantee you.”  Both detectives could tell from the tone of voice that Murphy had as much disdain for his temporary boss as the lieutenant did.  “But, ah, I’ll make sure you get the reports asap, okay?”</p><p>Mike smiled in spite of himself.  “Thanks, Peter.”</p><p>With an empathetic nod and a brief pat on the older detective’s arm, Murphy followed the gurney out the front door.  Mike looked at his partner; neither said a word.</p><p>“Mike!”  </p><p>They turned in the direction of the voice.  Baer was standing at the entrance to the hallway.  He gestured back towards the nursery with his head and the detectives followed him down the short corridor and into the gaily painted and brightly lit room. </p><p>A second forensic tech and the photographer were already in the room.  The crib had been pulled away from the wall, allowing access to the hole in the drywall.  The tech looked at Baer, who nodded, and, with the photographer standing over his shoulder taking pictures, dug into the drywall with a small knife and carefully extracted the slug.  He lifted it in his gloved hands and held it out for the detectives to look at before Baer raised his gloved hand and the misshapen bullet was dropped onto his palm.  He brought it close to his eyes and stared at it.</p><p>“Preliminary guess?  Hollow-point .22.”  He studied it even closer.  “It’s in good shape… we might be able to identify the gun, if we’re lucky… or narrow it down somewhat.”</p><p>“Whatever you can do, Colin…” Mike smiled grimly.</p><p>Baer nodded.  “Yeah.  We’ll, ah, we’ll finish up here and I’ll get the report to you as soon as I can… okay?”</p><p>With a tight-lipped smile, Mike nodded and, gathering Steve with raised eyebrows, he took the few steps to the doorway then stopped and looked back.  His eyes fell on the crib and the bloodstains on the blanket and mattress and he swallowed heavily.  He felt his partner’s hand on his shoulder and a gentle squeeze.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>Steve was hanging up the mic when Mike slid onto the passenger seat and slammed the door.</p><p>“That was Norm,” he offered, nodding at the open notebook on the seat beside him.  “I’ve got the addresses for Ellen Briarly and Walter Northcott.  Which one do you want to visit first?”</p><p>“The sister’s in Presidio Heights, right?”</p><p>Steve nodded.</p><p>“And the brother’s over somewhere in Marin?”</p><p>“Yeah, Sausalito.”</p><p>“Well, makes sense we do the sister first, right?”</p><p>With a slight smile, Steve nodded.  “Right.”  He put the key in the ignition and started the car.</p><p>It didn’t take long to get to Pacific Avenue and locate the large home hidden from the street by a four-foot stone wall and a row of tall, well-groomed hornbeam trees.  They were surprised to find the wooden gate unlocked and they approached the large wooden front door with the impressive gold-plated knocker with a gravity befitting the situation.  As he knocked, Mike looked at his partner and inhaled deeply.  No matter how many times he’d had to do this over the years, it never got any easier.</p><p>A middle-aged black woman wearing a white maids uniform opened the door, smiling broadly.  “May I help you?”  Her eyes flashed to the two badges being held out.</p><p>“I’m Lieutenant Stone and this is Inspector Keller,” the older cop introduced easily.  “Is Mrs. Briarly at home?”</p><p>The smile wavered and disappeared.  “Oh, no, I’m afraid not.  She has a meeting at the museum on Monday mornings.”  Her smile widened.  “She on the board of directors for the Fine Arts Museums of San Francisco.”</p><p>The detectives looked at each other.</p><p>“Is Mr Briarly at home?” the younger one asked.</p><p>She shook her head again.  “I’m sorry, Mr. Briarly is on a business trip to New York.  Is, ah, is there anything else I can do for you?” she asked pleasantly and Mike smiled.</p><p>“Ah, no, not right now, thank you.  Did you know when she’ll be home?”</p><p>“Well, sometimes those meetings last all day.  If you can give me your number -“</p><p>Mike already had his card in his hand and held it out.  Her eyes widened and she chuckled as she took it.  </p><p>“I’ll make sure to give it to her as soon as she gets home.”</p><p>“Thank you,” Mike acknowledged with a smile and a grateful nod.  They could hear her close the heavy wooden door as they started back down the stone walkway to their car.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>The LTD wound its way up the winding, tree-lined streets of Sausalito, Mike scanning the right side of the road for the number they wanted.  The car pulled onto the narrow shoulder and they got out.  If it wasn’t for the seriousness of the situation, they both would’ve enjoyed the stunning view of San Francisco Bay.</p><p>The impressive grey and white clapboard house was built into the side of a hill up a short but steep driveway.  Mike turned to the younger man as they made the climb.  “I wonder what Walter Northcott does for a living?  Whatever it is, it must pay well…”</p><p>Steve chuckled dryly as they stepped up onto the small wooden deck that fronted the house and knocked as loudly as his knuckles allowed.  “Coming!” a pleasant female voice could be heard from inside.</p><p>The tumblers of the lock clicked and the door opened onto a middle-aged woman with short dark hair and a welcoming smile.  “Oh, hello.  Can I help you?” </p><p>Both detectives slipped their badges out and her smile quickly disappeared.  “I’m Lieutenant Stone and this is Inspector Keller, San Francisco Police.  Are you Mrs. Northcott?”</p><p>Her eyes bounced back and forth under frowning brows.  “Um, ah, yes… uh, Linda.  Is there something wrong?  Has something happened to my husband?”</p><p>Mike smiled mirthlessly and shook his head.  “No, ma’am, not your husband.  Uh, would it be okay if we came in?”</p><p>Biting her bottom lip, and suddenly looking very frightened, Linda Northcott hesitated before taking a step back and opening the door wider.  “Um, ah, yes, of course…”</p><p>“Thank you,” Mike nodded as he moved past her deeper into the house.</p><p>And as she shut the door behind the younger detective, all three knew that in a few minutes her life would change forever.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>She led them into the finely decorated living room, gesturing at the floral couch as she sat in a nearby straight-backed chair.  She smiled at them nervously.  </p><p>The older detective leaned forward, a soft smile playing across his lips under a slightly furrowed brow.  “Mrs. Northcott, when was the last time you saw or spoke to your sister-in-law Jane Goodman?”</p><p>She frowned, tilting her head slightly.  “Jane?  Has something happened to Jane and Charlie?  T0 Robbie?”</p><p>Mike raised his eyebrows slightly.  “When was the last time you spoke to them?” he tried again.</p><p>“Uh, ah,” she flustered, her cheeks beginning to turn red.  “Walter talked to her last night.  Please tell me everything’s all right…”</p><p>Ignoring her entreaty, Mike pressed on.  “What time was that?  What time did your husband talk to her?”  Peripherally he could see Steve take out his notebook and pen.</p><p>“Um, I’m not sure… 9, 9:30…?”</p><p>“Do you know what they talked about?”</p><p>“I don’t know, you’ll have to ask him.”  Her tone was becoming clipped with worry and her eyes bored into his face.  “Will you please tell me what this is all about?”</p><p>Mike sat back slightly and glanced at his partner before facing her once more.  “Mrs. Northcott, we regret to inform you that there was an incident at your sister-in-law’s house last night… and the Goodman family was attacked -“</p><p>“Attacked?” she gasped sharply.  “What do you mean attacked?”</p><p>“Someone entered their home last night… there was a shooting… and I’m afraid they didn’t survive.”  </p><p>Mrs. Northcott, her eyes wide and disbelieving, stared at him for several long seconds without a reaction.  She opened her mouth but nothing came out for a long beat before she managed to utter softly, “They’re dead…?”</p><p>Mike nodded gently.  “I’m afraid so.”</p><p>She sat perfectly still for a few silent seconds, staring into space, then asked hesitantly, “Robbie…?”</p><p>Swallowing heavily, Mike dropped his head slightly, closed his eyes and nodded.  </p><p>She squealed, her right hand coming up to her mouth.  Tears filled her eyes but didn’t fall.  They knew she was in shock.  Mike nodded at Steve, who got quickly to his feet and disappeared into the kitchen.  He returned with a glass of water and handed it to her.  She took it gratefully, taking a sip then clutching the glass in both hands.  </p><p>“Do you have any idea who would have it?”</p><p>Mike shook his head.  “No, I’m afraid not.”  He paused then tried a small sympathetic smile.  “I know this is a bad time, but are you up to a few questions?”</p><p>She took another sip of water then nodded.  “Yes… yes, of course…”</p><p>Mike sat back as Steve leaned forward.  The younger man smiled encouragingly.  “Do you know if Mr. Goodman had trouble with any of his clients?”</p><p>“Charlie?”  Her eyebrows went up and she looked genuinely surprised.  “Oh my god, no.  Not Charlie.  He was very good at what he did.  I never heard either he or Jane ever say they had a problem with anybody.  He throws a party every Christmas for his clients and Walter and I always go and they all seem to love him.”  She looked from one detective to the other and shrugged helplessly.  “i can’t believe anybody had a problem with Charlie…”</p><p>Steve smiled his thanks.  “Ah, what about their marriage?  Was it a happy one?”</p><p>“Yes,” she answered emphatically, “definitely yes…. He adored Jane and Jane adored him and they both adored Robbie…. They had the perfect marriage…”  She looked down, her face crumbling slightly, and she bit her upper lip.  “I always envied them…”  She raised her eyes and smiled sadly.  “Walter can be a little… distant sometimes…”</p><p>With a grateful nod, Steve glanced at his notebook.  “Do you know Mr. Goodman’s brother and sister?”</p><p>“Ellen and Robert?”</p><p>Both detectives nodded.</p><p>“Oh yes, yes, I do.  Well, I know Ellen better than Robert, he lives in Los Angeles, of course, and he doesn’t get up here much…. But Ellen, she’s wonderful.  She and her husband are really into the arts, they’re very generous.”</p><p>“They have money?”</p><p>“Oh, yes…”  She almost smiled.  “Well, her husband, he’s from money.  Not a lot, mind you, but enough for them to be… patrons of the arts, I guess you could call them.  She sits on a lot of arts boards, you know…. They don’t have any children so that’s their passion.  And it became even easier after the inheritance…”</p><p>Mike perked up and leaned forward slightly.  “The inheritance…?”</p><p>Mrs. Northcott looked at him.  “Why yes, the money the three Goodman children inherited from their aunt.  She’d married into the DuPont family and when she passed away a couple of years ago, she left them her fortune.  It wasn’t tens of millions, of course, but it was… substantial, I would say.”</p><p>“All three of the Goodmans got money?”</p><p>She nodded.  “Yes, Charlie, Ellen and Robert.  Not that they needed it, mind you.  Well, maybe Robert did…”</p><p>The detectives exchanged a quick look.</p><p>“What do you mean?” Mike asked softly.</p><p>She looked at him silently for a couple of seconds then chose her words carefully.  “Well, I could be gossiping here but…”  She paused and both detectives held their breaths.  “Well Jane mentioned a couple of times that Robert was bothering Charlie about the money.”</p><p>“What, precisely, was he bothering him about?” Steve prodded gently.</p><p>“Well, from what I gathered from Jane, Robert seemed to think he deserved more of the inheritance than Charlie and Ellen because they were obviously more well off than he was so he thought he deserved more.”</p><p>“And what did Charlie think about that?”</p><p>“Well… Jane told me once that Charlie thought his little brother ought to pull his socks up and look after his own affairs and be grateful for any money that was coming his way.”</p><p>“How did Robert react to that, do you know?”</p><p>She shook her head.  “Jane never said, but she didn’t mention it again so I don’t think it was a big problem for them… but I’m just guessing…”  Her brows narrowed.  “You don’t think Robert -?”</p><p>“No no no,” Mike assured quickly, raising a placating hand.  “Not at all.  We need to ask, that’s all.”</p><p>Catching her breath, taking another sip of water, she nodded.  “I just can’t believe they’re gone,” she whispered as she put the glass on the coffee table then looked at them with disbelieving eyes.  “Who would do such a thing…?”</p><p>Mike leaned forward and put a comforting hand on her forearm.  “Don’t worry, Mrs. Northcott, we’ll find them.  Whoever did it, I promise you we’ll find them.”</p><p>“Thank you,” she mouthed, trying not to cry, the shock wearing off.</p><p>“Your husband,” Steve said gently, “would you like us to tell him or…?”</p><p>She shook her head.  “No… no, it’s okay, I’ll, ah, I’ll tell him.  It’ll be easier coming from me, I think…”</p><p>“All right,” Mike nodded, “but we’ll need to talk to him.”  He took a card out of his jacket pocket and handed it to her.  “When he, ah, when he feels… able to talk, could you have him give me a call?”</p><p>She looked at the card then back at the older detective again.  “Yes, yes I will.”</p><p>With a nod and a grateful smile, Mike got to his feet; Steve followed suit, closing his notebook and slipping it into his jacket pocket.  Mrs. Northcott stood up and led them silently to the front door.  </p><p>When they were on the deck, Mike turned to her and put a hand on her forearm again.  “Thank you very much, Mrs. Northcott.  And we’re very sorry for your loss…”  He squeezed her arm gently.  “And please let us know if you think of any that might help us shed some light on this senseless tragedy.”</p><p>Her face crumpled and she bit both her lips.  Silent tears started to slide down her cheeks and she nodded.</p><p>He smiled grimly and nodded, then followed his partner across the deck and down the stairs to the steep driveway.  They walked back to the car in silence.  After Mike slammed the door, he looked across the front seat.  “What do you think?”</p><p>Steve had stuck the key in the ignition and as he turned the engine over he glanced at his partner and raised his eyebrows.  “I think we need to talk to Robert Goodman.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Mike said slowly, sitting back and turning to look out the windshield.  “Yeah, that’s what I think too.”</p><p># # # # #</p><p>Mike took his fedora off as they crossed the bullpen.  Steve stopped at his desk and dropped the notebook beside the phone as he shrugged his jacket off and dropped it on the back of the chair before sitting.  Mike continued into his office, hanging the hat on the coat rack before crossing around the desk.  He opened the top drawer, snapped the .38 off his belt and put it away before sitting heavily, loosening his tie and leaning back.  He closed his eyes and exhaled loudly.</p><p>After several long seconds, he opened his eyes, sat forward and lifted the receiver of the black phone, dialing a three-digit internal number.  “Yeah, Rudy, it’s Mike.  You got a few minutes?…. Yeah, we caught a bad one this morning.  I thought you might want to be brought into the loop….  Yeah, okay, I’ll be right down.”</p><p>He got wearily to his feet.  He wasn’t tired, he knew; he was heavy-hearted.  He stopped at his partner’s desk on his way back across the bullpen.  Putting his hand over the mouthpiece, Steve looked up.  “I’m going to dig up everything I can find on Robert Goodman.”  </p><p>Mike nodded.  “Good.  Don’t do anything until I get back, okay?  I want to make sure we know more than he does before we talk to him.”</p><p>“You got it.”  Steve took his hand off his mouthpiece.  “Yes, I’m still here…”</p><p>Mike dropped a hand onto his partner’s shoulder and squeezed before he continued on to the door.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>It was over an hour before Mike reentered the squad room and made his way slowly to the inner office.  Steve, once more on the phone, watched him pass with a worried frown.  He knew his partner was taking this case more personally than he usually did because of the age of youngest victim, and he also knew there was nothing he could do to help, except catch the shooter quickly.  The longer the killer remained at large, the tighter and more withdrawn Mike would become.</p><p>He ended the call, picking up his notebook as he stood.  Then, before heading to the inner office, stopped by the coffee nook and poured two cups, sticking his notepad under his arm as he carried both cups into the office and set one on the desk in front of the older man, who was sitting back in the chair with his eyes closed.</p><p>The soft thud of cup on the desk and the gentle clearing of the younger man’s throat brought a wistful smile to his face as he opened his eyes and sat forward.  </p><p>“You look like you can use a coffee,” Steve said with a warm chuckle as he sat, putting his own cup on the desk and taking the notebook from under his arm.</p><p>“Thanks, buddy boy,” Mike said, his smile getting a little wider as he picked up the cup and took a sip.</p><p>“Rough day, hunh?”</p><p>Mike tilted his head and raised his eyebrows.  “The roughest…”</p><p>“Well, I found out a few things about Robert Goodman. You want to hear?”</p><p>Mike leaned forward and rested both forearms against the edge of the desk.  “You bet I do.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Robert Goodman, the youngest of the three Goodman siblings - Ellen is the oldest, by the way - 37 years old.  He’s owns a small construction company in Los Angeles, is married, two kids - a boy and girl.  He moved to L.A. eleven years ago.  According to the DMV, he drives a Mercedes 450 SEL, a lease in his company’s name.  And as far as I can tell right now, he has no criminal record anywhere in the state of California.  And neither Charles Goodman, or anyone in his family that we know of, have ever purchased a gun, at least legally.”  Steve looked up from the notebook and smiled, sitting back in the guest chair.</p><p>Mike had been watching him with a slight, anticipatory smile, which quickly disappeared.  “What?  That’s all you’ve got?”</p><p>Steve frowned.  “What do you mean?  I’ve only had an hour.  What did you expect?”</p><p>Growling under his breath, Mike looked down briefly and shook his head sharply.  “I know, I’m sorry.”</p><p>“Well, if it makes you happy, I’ve got Bill making calls to all the airlines to see if there was any chance he flew up here yesterday, killed his brother’s family and flew home.  And I’ve got feelers out for information on the financial health of his company.  I’ve also got a call in to Records to find out about that inheritance Mrs. Northcott told us about.”</p><p>Mike, who was looking at him with appreciation, nodded.  “Good, good.  Say, ah, has Mrs. Briarly called yet?”</p><p>Steve shook his head.  “Not yet.  Listen, ah, you want to call Robert Goodman?  Give him the news yourself?”</p><p>The older man hesitated for a long second, his gaze turning inward briefly.  “No.  No, we’ll let the family do that.  I don’t want to tip our hand too early.  If he’s a suspect, and right now he is until we cross him off our very short list, I don’t want him suspecting anything.  He’ll no doubt be up here for the visitation and funerals and we can talk to him then.”  He leaned back, rubbing a hand over his face, and exhaled loudly.  “You said Bill’s doing some work for you?”</p><p>Steve nodded.  “Yeah.”</p><p>“So he knows what went on at the Goodman house this morning?”</p><p>Frowning, the younger man nodded again.  “Yeah, why?”</p><p>“No, nothing wrong,” Mike assured quickly, “I, ah… I want to go back to the house, have another look around, but I don’t want to miss Mrs. Briarly’s call.”</p><p>Smiling in acknowledgement, Steve got to his feet, picking up the notebook.  “I’ll get him to keep an ear out for your phone,” he said over his shoulder as he crossed back to his desk to get his jacket.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>Mike was standing in the doorway of the nursery.  The crib, now stripped of the bloody sheets and blankets, was still in the middle of room.  The hole in the wall stood out starkly against the powder blue and white paint of the sky and clouds in the wonderfully decorated room.</p><p>The veteran detective closed his eyes and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly.  He could hear his partner in another room.  Taking a step back, he turned and started heavily down the hallway, stopping at the doorway to a wood-paneled room that had obviously been Charles Goodman’s study.</p><p>Steve was sitting in the leather armchair on the far side of the large wooden desk.  He had the drawers open.</p><p>“Find anything?”</p><p>The younger man looked up and smiled drolly.  “Well, he’s got a full Rolodex.  I’m gonna take it with me - I bet his lawyer’s name and number’s in there somewhere.  About the inheritance?”  His partner nodded.  He pointed down towards the floor.  “But the bottom drawer here is locked and I haven’t been able to find a key.”</p><p>“Well, let’s try to find it before we even consider breaking the lock.  Wouldn’t want to ruin such a beautiful piece of furniture.”</p><p>Steve nodded.  “I’ll keep looking.”</p><p>“Find anything that we can use?”</p><p>With a frustrated sigh, the younger man shook his head.  “Not a thing…”</p><p>“Well, let’s keep looking.  There’s gotta be a reason for someone they knew to kill the entire family…”</p><p>“Yeah,” Steve said softly as his eyes returned to the desk and the silver-framed photo of Jane and Robbie Goodman that commanded pride of place. </p><p>Mike wandered back into the living room, standing just off the carpet, staring at the large stain on the rug and the few large drops of dried blood on the right arm of the armchair.  Other than that, and the horror in the nursery, there was nothing else in this house that was disturbed.</p><p>And that was what bothered him the most, that Jane Goodman had let her killer in.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>“What time did you get in?” Steve asked from the doorway.</p><p>Mike looked up over the top of his glasses and smiled slightly.  “Oh, I don’t know… an hour ago, I guess.  I’m not sure.”  He shrugged.  “It was still dark, I know that.”  He looked back down at the file on his desk.</p><p>“Autopsy report?”</p><p>Still looking down, Mike shook his head.  “No, not yet.  A preliminary ballistic report.  It was a hollow-point .22, and Charlie thinks they might be able to narrow it down to just a couple of guns.  He’s gonna do more work and try to have an answer for us as soon as he can.”  He looked up and raised his eyebrows.  “That would help.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Steve agreed, slipping his jacket off as he crossed back to his desk.  There were a couple of messages tucked under his phone and he pulled them out, starting to read them as he hung his jacket on the back of the chair and sat.</p><p>“I got a note from Bill here,” he called towards the inner office.  “Mrs. Briarly called last night and he talked to her.  Says he’ll fill you in when he gets in.”</p><p>“Good.  I got a message from Mrs. Northcott.  She wants me to call her around 9.”</p><p>“Humh,” Steve grunted.  “I wonder what that’s all about.”</p><p>“I don’t know, but maybe she has something else to tell us about Robert.”</p><p># # # # #</p><p>“Hello?”</p><p>“Mrs. Northcott, this is Lieutenant Stone.  You asked me to call you?”</p><p>“Yes, Lieutenant.  Thank you so much for calling.”</p><p>“It’s no problem at all.  Is there something you want to tell me?”</p><p>“Well, I just wanted you to know my husband, well, he took the news pretty badly last night, and he’s still having trouble coming to… well, coming to terms with it, I guess you could say… but he knows you want to talk to him, about his phone call?  The one he had with Jane the other night?”</p><p>“Yes, that’s right.”</p><p>“Yes, well, ah, Walter said if you wanted to call him at the office after 11 this morning, he’ll take your call.”</p><p>There was a pause on the line.</p><p>“At his office?”</p><p>“Yes, yes, he’s gone into his office this morning.  They have a company meeting that he has to be there for.  He’s coming home at lunchtime.”</p><p>“I see.”</p><p>“Yes, ah, so I can give you his phone number at work, if you like.”</p><p>“That would be great, thank you.”</p><p>“Of course.  It’s, ah, it’s 555-1473.”</p><p>“Thank you very much.”</p><p>“Oh, ah, Lieutenant, the family… well, I mean, I talked to Ellen Briarly last night, Charlie’s sister?  She was very upset, of course, as was her husband.  I know she called Robert down in Los Angeles.  Anyway, I thought you might want to know that Robert and his wife are flying up this morning and we’re all going to meet over at Ellen’s place late this afternoon.”</p><p>“All of you?”</p><p>“Yes, you know where Ellen lives, Lieutenant?”</p><p>“Yes, we do, Mrs. Northcott.  Thank you very much.”</p><p>“You’re very welcome.  The entire family is in so much shock right now… we all want to do anything we can to help you find whoever did this.”</p><p>“We appreciate all the help we can get.”</p><p># # # # #</p><p>Mike strolled out of his office and dropped in the guest chair beside his partner’s desk.  </p><p>Steve was on the phone.  “Yes… yes, thank you.  Yes, thank you very much.”  He hung up and turned raised eyebrows in Mike’s direction.  “Well, that was interesting.”</p><p>“What was interesting?”</p><p>“That was Charles Goodman’s lawyer.  It seems Mr. Goodman’s estate is worth about a half million dollars.”  He tilted his head.  </p><p>Mike leaned forward, his eyes narrowing.  “And did he say who stands to inherit?”</p><p>Steve smiled coldly.  “Well, his wife and son were his beneficiaries, but in the event of their deaths, the estate is to be split between his sister and his brother.”</p><p>Mike raised his left hand and pulled at his lower lip.  “His brother, hunh?  That is interesting.”</p><p>“I thought you’d like that.”  He nodded towards the inner office.  “What did Mrs. Northcott have to say?”</p><p>Mike’s eyes refocused and he shook his head slightly as if to clear it.  “Humh?  Oh, ah, a couple of things.  Her husband has agreed to talk to me about that phone call he had with his sister the other night, but I’m to call him at his office at 11.”</p><p>“At his office?”</p><p>Mike raised his eyebrows and nodded.  “His wife said there was a company meeting he couldn’t get out of.  What could be so important in an insurance company that he had to be there, the morning after his sister’s family is wiped out?”</p><p>Steve shrugged, frowning.  “What was the other thing?”</p><p>“Oh, ah, Robert Goodman and his wife are flying up this morning and the entire family is getting together at Ellen Briarly’s later this afternoon.”</p><p>“Was that an invitation…?” Steve asked tentatively.</p><p>Mike tilted his head with a facial shrug.  “I got the impression she expected to see us so… we’re going fishing…”</p><p># # # # #</p><p>“Bay Area Insurance, Walter Northcott speaking.  How may I help you?”</p><p>“Mr. Northcott, this is Lieutenant Stone, San Francisco Homicide.”</p><p>“Ah, yes, Lieutenant, my wife said you were going to call me.  How can I help?”</p><p>“My, ah, my sincerest condolences on the loss of your sister and her family, Mr. Northcott, and please know my colleagues and I are doing everything we can to find out who did this.”</p><p>“Thank you, I appreciate that.”</p><p>“I’d like to talk to you about your sister and her family.  Would you be able to come down to the Hall of Justice sometime today?”</p><p>“I’m very busy, Lieutenant.  There’s a lot that I need to get done, as you can imagine.  I would prefer to do this over the phone.”</p><p>There was a long pause on the line.</p><p>“All right, I’d like to ask you a few questions right now if that’s okay?”</p><p>“Of course.”</p><p>“Ah, like I asked your wife, is there anyone you can think of who might want to do this to your sister and her family?”</p><p>“I can’t think of anybody.  I don’t know about Charlie’s business though… maybe it was one of his clients or something like that.  I have no idea.  My sister didn’t have any enemies, I’m sure of that.”</p><p>“Your wife said you spoke to your sister the night before, well, before they were killed.  Can you tell me what you talked about?”</p><p>“Ah, it was just, you know, brother and sister stuff.  About Robbie, about getting together… you know, just family stuff…”</p><p>“And she never mentioned anything that was bothering her, anything that might not have raised a flag at the time but might now…?”</p><p>“Nothing, Lieutenant, we just talked family stuff.”</p><p>“Do you remember what time that call was?</p><p>There was a frustrated exhale then, “I don’t know, 9 to 9:30 maybe, no later than 9:40, I’m sure of that.”</p><p>“Good, thank you.”</p><p>“So, is there anything else?”</p><p>There was another pointed silence.</p><p>“No.  No, not right now.  Thank you for your time, Mr. Northcott.”</p><p>“You’re welcome, Lieutenant.”</p><p>The line went dead while Mike still had the receiver in his hand.  He hung it up slowly and stared at it for several long seconds.</p><p>“Who was that?” came a familiar voice from the doorway and he looked up to see Steve leaning against the frame.</p><p>Mike’s eyes flashed back to the phone.  “That was Walter Northcott.”</p><p>“He was finished with his meeting?” the younger man asked with a smirk as he stepped to the guest chair and dropped into it.</p><p>Mike snorted.  “Yeah.  He said he and his sister just talked about ‘family stuff’ during their call the other night.”</p><p>“So what’s bothering you?”</p><p>“What do you mean?”</p><p>“I know that look.  What’s bothering you?”</p><p>Mike stared at him expressionlessly, then allowed a slight smile to curl his lips.  “You know that really short list of suspects?”</p><p>“The one with Robert Goodman on it?”</p><p>“Yeah, that one.  I want to add another name:  Walter Northcott.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Northcott?  Why him?”</p><p>Mike tilted his head, his gaze turning briefly inward.  “Because he made it sound like I was inconveniencing him asking about his sister…. He didn’t sound all that broken up.”  He looked at his partner, his brows furrowed.  “I want to talk to him this afternoon, face to face.  I want to talk to all of them.”  He sat forward sharply.  “Let’s get together everything we can find out about all of them… the whole damn family.  This has gotta be about money.  It has to be.”</p><p>“Gut instinct?” Steve asked with a wry smile, flipping through a few pages in his notebook.</p><p>“You bet.”  Mike smiled back.  “Get everything you’ve got so far and let’s put our heads together.”  He nodded over his shoulder at the inner office as he got to his feet.</p><p>Watching his partner retrace his steps to the black swivel chair and put his glasses on as he sat, Steve started to gather up the scattered papers from his desk, a warm smile lighting his features.  He loved it when they were on the hunt.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>Steve turned the LTD onto the tree-lined street, looking for a parking space.  Mike took his glasses off, folding them and stuffing them in his upper jacket pocket as he closed the folder on his lap and put it on the seat beside him.  He looked at the luxury cars already parked on the block.  “This is one expensive neighbourhood, isn’t it?” he mused semi—rhetorically.</p><p>“Too rich for my blood… and my salary,” Steve chuckled dryly as he backed the large sedan into a space between a Mercedes and a Jaguar.</p><p>Mike glanced at his watch.  “5:20,” he muttered under his breath.  “Everyone should be here by now, I would think.”  He looked at his partner and smiled mirthlessly.  “You ready to meet the extended family?”</p><p>They got out of the car, staring at the low wall and hedge of trees that shielded the Briarly home from the rest of the world.  As they started across the street, Steve fell into step beside his partner.  “Why do I have a feeling this is going to feel like one of those drawing room scenes from an Agatha Christie novel?”</p><p>Mike chuckled.  “So who does that make me, Hercule Poirot or Miss Marple?”</p><p>Steve looked at him, trying to hide his shock.  “You read murder mysteries?”</p><p>“What?  You think I only read Zane Gray and Louise L’amour?  Just so you know, I also read James Michener and John Steinbeck.”</p><p>They had reached the wooden gate and had started up the walkway to the large front door.  As he banged the knocker, Mike shot his partner a smug look; the younger man laughed then caught his breath when the maid they had spoken to the day before opened the door.  She looked surprised to see them again.  </p><p>Mike smiled warmly, his star and I.D. in his hand once more.  “Good afternoon.  Would Mrs. Briarly be home right now?”</p><p>“Uh, yes… yes, she is, but I’m afraid she has guests right now -“</p><p>“Yes, we know,” Mike said smoothly as he took a step over the threshold, forcing her to take her hand off the door and move out of his way.  Steve followed.  “Would you please tell her we’d like to see her?  Lieutenant Stone and Inspector Keller,” he introduced them again, nodding at the younger man, who smiled politely.</p><p>After a startled pause, she nodded quickly.  “Ah, yes… yes, of course,” she responded, closing the door before disappearing through a door to the right of the large foyer.</p><p>Taking off his fedora, Mike glanced at Steve and smiled knowingly as they looked around the well-appointed room they were standing in, both of them wondering what the rest of the house looked like.</p><p>A middle-aged, perfectly coifed, obviously upper crust blond woman entered through the door the maid had exited and crossed towards them, a pleasant but concerned smile on her face.  “How may I help you gentlemen?”, she asked, her voice soft and warm.</p><p>“Mrs. Briarly?  Ellen Briarly?” Mike asked cordially, both his and his partner’s badges in their hands.  </p><p>“Yes?”</p><p>“I’m Lieutenant Stone, this is Inspector Keller.”</p><p>“Oh, yes, Lieutenant,” she nodded, “you left Martha your card yesterday.  I believe I spoke with your, ah, Inspector Tanner, was it?”</p><p>“Yes.  Thank you for calling… and, ah, we’re so very sorry for your loss.”</p><p>“Thank you,” she responded sincerely, and it was easy to see the obvious pain in her red-rimmed eyes.  She was clutching a handkerchief in one hand and she raised it almost automatically to her mouth, a soft whimper escaping her lips.  “It’s unbelievable, isn’t it?” she asked quietly, looking at them both with incomprehension.</p><p>“Yes, it is,” Mike answered sincerely and she looked at him with gratitude.  </p><p>She swallowed heavily.  “So what can I do for you gentlemen?” she asked again.</p><p>“Well, ah,” Mike began, glancing at Steve, “your sister-in-law Mrs. Northcott told us your entire family, both immediately families actually, would be here right now… and I know it’s a bad time, but we need help from the family if we’re going to solve this as soon as we can.”  He smiled warmly.  “I know it’s a lot to ask, but would it be possible if Steve and I talked to the family tonight.  I promise we’ll be as brief as possible but it would really be helpful if any members of the family could shed some light on who would do this to your brother and his wife and baby.”</p><p>She had started to fidget as he talked and they were sure she was going to refuse, but when Mike had used the word ‘baby’ instead of ‘son’, the thin veneer of her control crumbled and she started to cry.  She caught herself quickly and cleared her throat, keeping her hand over her mouth as she struggled for control.  She looked into the older man’s sympathetic eyes.<br/>“Who would kill a baby, Lieutenant?  I just don’t understand it..”</p><p>He reached out and gently touched her forearm.  “Neither do we, Ms. Briarly, neither do we.  But we’re going to find him, I guarantee you.”</p><p>She stared at him for a long beat, then nodded with gratitude.  “Thank you…”  She looked at Steve and smiled warmly.  “Follow me,” she said, standing a little straighter as she turned and started towards the door she had come through, the detectives falling into step behind her.</p><p>As they walked into the large sitting room, Steve had to smile to himself.  It really was a scene out of an Agatha Christie novel.  There were two enormous sofas on either side of a huge marble fireplace, an enormous glass coffee table separating them.  Two large overstuffed chairs separated the couches, facing the fireplace.  There was a large table against a far wall, loaded with many and varied bottles of wine and liquor, ice buckets and glasses, a restaurant-size coffee maker and cups and saucers.  There were two large silver trays on the coffee table, one half-filled with small sandwiches, the other with what looked like an arrangement of olives and pickles, vegetables and dip.</p><p>There were five other people in the room.  Both detectives knew who they were by name; they recognized Mrs. Northcott and, by process of elimination, knew the other woman had to be Robert Goodman’s wife, but the three men were unknown.  Steve glanced at his partner; he knew from long experience that both of them were trying to figure out who was who before the introductions could be made.  </p><p>Everyone was looking at the new arrivals with various degrees of curiosity.  Mrs. Northcott caught Mike’s eye and smiled softly, nodding then tilting her head almost imperceptibly in the direction of the tall dark-haired slightly younger man to her right.  Mike followed her gesture, his expression remaining non-committal when his eyes fell on the man he knew to be Robert Goodman.  If first impressions were lasting, Goodman looked shattered, every inch the bereaved brother.  He glanced at Steve and could tell instantly that the younger man had made the same observation.</p><p>Mrs. Briarly made the introductions.  Her husband, James, was a pleasant-looking, slightly overweight, balding man in his mid-fifties.  Robert Goodman’s wife, Alice, was a stunning redhead whose eyes matched her hair.  She had obviously been crying for a long time, and could barely mumble a salutation.  </p><p>But it was Walter Northcott who interested Mike the most.  Jane Goodman’s brother was a tall, physically fit, rather bland-looking man in his mid-thirties.  There were circles under his eyes and he managed only a perfunctory smile when he shook the detective’s hands.  </p><p>“Listen, uh,” he said quietly to Mike, “I’m, ah, I’m sorry about this morning… I, ah, I was distracted…. We’d had this meeting that I absolutely had to be at… and it just seemed so, I don’t know… I had to be there, I didn’t have a choice…”</p><p>“I understand,” Mike responded sincerely, impressed that Northcott was being so forthright but not sure if he believed him or not.  He faced the room.  “As you know, or are just learning, Steve and I are heading up the investigation into the deaths of Charles, Jane and Robbie Goodman.”</p><p>There were a couple of stifled whimpers in the room; the emotions were still very raw.</p><p>Mike paused, then continued gently.  “And we’re going to need your help to solve this.  We have no leads right now,” he said with one slow shake of his head, opting for the honest approach.  “So, with your permission, Mr. and Mrs. Briarly,” he glanced at both of the homeowners, “Steve and I would like to take a few minutes with each of you and just…” he shrugged slightly, “just see if any of you can think of a reason someone would cold-bloodedly kill Charles and Jane and little Robbie.”  He used the three names deliberately, hoping it would rattle anyone who had something to hide.  They had both been studying the family, and neither noticed even the slightest signs of guilt in any of the six members.</p><p>Mr. Briarly took a step towards them.  “Of course, Lieutenant, we’ll do anything to help catch whoever did this.  Right?” he asked to the room in general, receiving nods all around.</p><p>Nodding slowly, Mike turned to Mr. Briarly with a grateful smile.  “Thank you.  We appreciate your cooperation.  Ah, is there someplace private we could do this?”</p><p>Mr. Briarly smiled slightly.  “I have a study down the hallway.  Will that do?”</p><p>“That would be fine.  Thank you.”</p><p># # # # #</p><p>Both doors of the tan LTD slammed shut at the same time.  Mike exhaled loudly as Steve looked across the front seat and raised his eyebrows.  “So, what do you think?”</p><p>The older man shrugged.  “I don’t know.  I honestly thought we had two names on our short list but now… I don’t know.”</p><p>“Yeah,” the younger man sighed.  “They’re both either really good actors, or they had nothing to do with it.”</p><p>Mike snorted almost angrily.  “God damn it.  I really thought this’d narrow it down but it’s just opened it up.”  He shook his head in frustration.</p><p>Steve let the silence lengthen for a few long beats then asked gently, “So what do you want to do?”</p><p>Mike snorted again, this time with a dry chuckle.  “Hell if I know.”  He glanced at his watch.  “Look, ah, it’s been a long day.  Why don’t we just go home and start fresh in the morning.  I want to go back to the house again… maybe there’s something we’ve missed.  And I want to get that ballistics report from Charlie… maybe if we can find the gun, we can find the killer.”</p><p>With a silent nod, Steve started the car and pulled the large sedan away from the curb.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Mike nodded at the officer in the black-and-white parked at the curb as he and Steve stepped onto the short stone walkway that led to the Goodman front door.  </p><p>“Did you ever have to do that, back in the day?” Steve asked conversationally as they stopped on the landing, Mike fishing the house key out of his pocket.</p><p>“Do what?”, the older man asked as he slid the key in the lock.</p><p>Steve nodded back over his shoulder.  “Sit on a murder house?”</p><p>As he turned the key, Mike smiled slightly.  “Just once, when I was a rookie.  I actually enjoyed it, believe it or not.  I was walking a beat then and the opportunity to sit in a car all day was a nice break.”  He opened the door, and stepped into the house, leaving the key in the lock.</p><p>Chuckling softly, Steve followed.  They stood just inside the open door and looked around.  “What are you hoping to find?” the younger man asked as his eyes slid over the walls and floor, slowly trailing his partner to the edge of the carpet in the living room.</p><p>With a facial shrug, Mike shook his head slightly.  “I have no idea…”  He raised his eyebrows and looked at the other man peripherally.  “Inspiration…?”  His eyes traveled to the hallway that led to the nursery and his features hardened, anger vying with profound sadness.  After a beat, he turned to his partner.  “Listen, ah, I just want to look around.  How about you go across the street and interview that, ah… that neighbor lady -“</p><p>“Mrs. Taylor?”</p><p>“Yeah, her.  Ask her about Mrs. Goodman again, if she remembers anything she may have said about - well, you know what to ask her.”</p><p>Steve smiled to himself slightly.  He knew the older man was more rattled and frustrated than he was going to admit.  He reached out and lightly patted his partner’s arm.  “Yeah, I know what to ask her.”  He disappeared back out the open door.</p><p>Mike studied the living room for a few long beats before he stepped onto the carpet and crossed to the armchair.  Carefully, avoiding the dried bloodstains on the right arm, he sat, looking towards the sofa, where he surmised Mrs. Goodman had been sitting when her husband was shot in the head.  The order in which the murders occurred was obvious; first Mr. Goodman, then his wife, then the baby.</p><p>He closed his eyes, his hands balling into fists.  Why the baby?  What possible reason could anyone have for killing the baby?  He was too young to be a witness so why…?  There had to be a reason.</p><p>He stood slowly, looking around the room again.  The background check had revealed that Charles Goodman did not own, and had never purchased, a gun, so the killer had to have brought it with him.  And if the make of the gun could be narrowed down from the bullet they had dug out of the nursery wall, it could go a long way towards tracking down a purchaser and, hopefully, a killer.  It was a longshot, he knew, but right now it was the only shot they had.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>Mike was standing in the doorway of the nursery once more when Steve wandered back into the house. He turned when he heard the approaching footsteps.  “Anything?”</p><p>Grim-faced, Steve shook his head.  “No, she can’t remember Mrs. Goodman ever mentioning anything.”  He smiled almost wistfully.  “And neither did any of the other ladies.”</p><p>Mike frowned.  “The other ladies?”</p><p>“Yeah, ah, it seems Mrs. Goodman had quite a little coterie of friends.  And they are all at Mrs. Taylor’s this morning.”  He raised his eyebrows.</p><p>Mike gestured back down the hallway with his chin and Steve fell into step beside him as they returned to the living room.</p><p>“So, according to the ladies, the Goodmans didn’t have an enemy in the world.  They were a wonderful couple who loved each other deeply, they were very social and very generous, and everybody in the neighborhood loved them.  They all agree on that.  And they made it obvious that they are going to be on our case until we solve this, one way or the other.  And I believe them.”</p><p>They had made it to the front door.  Mike inhaled deeply.  “Well, let’s just hope we don’t let them down.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Steve agreed softly as he followed his partner out into the overcast morning.  The weather seemed to mirror their mood.  “You find anything?” he asked after Mike locked the door and they crossed the small lawn to their car.</p><p>Mike shook his head as he circled to the passenger side, taking another sober look back at the house before he opened the door.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>Mike studied the small pile of messages lying on his desk as he slipped the .38 off his belt and stuck it in the drawer.  He glanced up, raising his voice.  “Call the M.E.’s office, will ya?  The autopsies should’ve been done by now.  Why haven’t we got ‘em yet?”</p><p>Steve nodded automatically as he perused his own messages and was just about to sit when he looked up.  He walked to the inner office door.  “Why do you want the autopsy reports?  We know how they died.  And it’ll take days for the results of any toxicology tests.”</p><p>Mike, who had sat and just put his glasses on, pinned him with a glare and a tilt of his head.  “Indulge me.  I want to make sure all three bullets were hollow-point .22s… that there was only one killer.”</p><p>Steve tilted his head.  “Good point.”  He turned to go back to his desk.</p><p>“Thank you,” came the sarcastic retort and he smiled with a soft chuckle.</p><p>With a low, snarky growl, Mike picked up one of the messages, lifted the black receiver and dialed.  “Yes, ah, Mrs. Northcott.  It’s Lieutenant Stone returning your call.”  He listened, jotting down a few notes on a yellow pad.  “Yes… Yes, all right…. Yes, we would…  Okay, thank you very much.”</p><p>He hung up, starng at what he had just written before looking through the glass wall; Steve was making a notation in his notebook.  He got up and strode around the desk into the bullpen, taking the pad with him.  “Did you talk to the M.E.’s office?” he asked as he dropped into the guest chair beside his partner’s desk.</p><p>“Ah, yeah, I talked to Colin.  It’s, ah, it’s gonna be another day or two, I think.”  He smiled mirthlessly, as if he was trying to make light of the information he was imparting.</p><p>Mike looked up from the pad in his hand, frowning.  “What do you mean it’s gonna be another day or two?  What’s taking so long?”</p><p>Steve shrugged.  “He didn’t say.”</p><p>“You didn’t ask?”</p><p>“I did.”  Steve sounded defensive.  “But Colin’s not doing it, McDonnell is.  And McDonnell said it was gonna take another day or so.”  He shrugged again.</p><p>With a growl, Mike looked back at the pad again.  “I have a feeling he’s holding it just ‘cause he doesn’t like me.”</p><p>Steve snorted.  He gestured at the pad with his chin.  “What have you got?”</p><p>“Oh, ah, I just talked to Mrs. Northcott again.  She said the funeral is tomorrow, but they’re having a visitation this afternoon at Sullivan’s.  She was wondering if we could drop by; she wants to talk to us about something.”  He raised his eyebrows expectantly.</p><p>Steve inclined his head.  “What, she couldn’t tell you over the phone?”</p><p>“I got the feeling she wasn’t alone, or free to talk”</p><p>“Ah hah…. So, ah, we’re going to a visitation?”</p><p>“We’re going to a visitation.”</p><p># # # # #</p><p>Mike looked up from the report on his desk and glanced at his watch.  They had an hour before they had to leave for the visitation.  He was about to return to the report when he looked at the watch again and frowned.  He snapped off his glasses and dropped them on the desk, scrambling to his feet and circling the desk to grab his coat and hat on the way to his partner’s desk. </p><p>Steve looked up, startled to find his partner looming over him, shrugging into his jacket.  </p><p>“Come on, come on, let’s go.”</p><p>Frowning, Steve looked at his watch.  “What?  We don’t have to -“</p><p>“Lunch, buddy boy, we gotta grab some lunch and we’re not gonna get anything today…” the older man insisted.</p><p>Smiling, Steve stood and snagged his own jacket from the back of his chair.  He was just about to slip it on when the bureau door opened and Charlie strode into the room.  Both detectives froze; it was highly unusual to see the the head of the crime lab in their offices. </p><p>Mike, who was in the process of doing up his collar button, lowered his hands and frowned.  “Charlie, what are you doing up here?”</p><p>The imposing black forensic expert broke into a wide grin, holding up the manila folder in his hand.  “I needed to go the extra mile for this one, Mike.  This one is special.”  He pointed towards the inner office with the folder.  “Shall we?”</p><p>Mike’s eyes snapped to his partner then back to the analyst.   “Be my guest,” he gestured, letting Charlie precede him into the small glass-walled space.  Steve closed the door after him as Mike sat on the edge of the desk and Charlie sank into one of the guest chairs.</p><p>Smiling, the forensic expert laid the folder on the desk and opened it.  “The, ah, the Goodman case… that bullet you gave us?”</p><p>Both detectives nodded, frowning slightly.</p><p>“That definitely was a .22 hollow-point Magnum.  And it’s in amazing shape, considering it’s supposed to disintegrate, so we have an excellent chance to match it to another slug, when and if you get one.”</p><p>Mike nodded, confused.  “Yeah, we know all that, Charlie.”</p><p>The analyst’s brown eyes narrowed and he glared at the older detective, who glared right back.  Steve suppressed a smile.</p><p>“So, what, you got a list of guns it could be from?” Mike asked, knowing he was coming very close to crossing a line.</p><p>The glaring match continued for several very long seconds before Charlie began to smile.  Steve relaxed.</p><p>With a dry chuckle, Charlie glanced down at the folder, picked up a report and handed it to the subtly smiling lieutenant.  “I’m not giving you a list of guns, Mike.  I’m giving you the one and only model that bullet could have come from.”</p><p>His brows narrowing, Mike took the report without looking, his eyes still on the forensic expert.  “The one model…?”</p><p>Charlie nodded slowly.  “I narrowed it down to one model.  A Colt Second Generation Buntline Special with an 8” barrel.”</p><p>Mike froze, staring at the now grinning forensic genius.  Then, very slowly, his eyes drifted to the report.  “Are you sure?”, he almost whispered.</p><p>Charlie nodded.  “I’ll stake my reputation on it.”  Still smiling, he looked at Steve.  “So, ah, does that help you guys?”</p><p>Smiling, Steve nodded. Mike’s eyes drifted back up from the report.  “Yeah… yeah, that’ll help a lot…”</p><p>Charlie sobered.  “That’d be the gun that killed that baby, right?”</p><p>Closing his eyes briefly, Mike nodded.  His own head bobbing, Charlie got slowly to his feet.  He stepped to the door then turned back.  “You guys get the bastard, all right?”</p><p>Steve nodded softly; Mike met Charlie’s stare evenly. “If I have to die trying…” he promised quietly.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Steve looked at his partner, frowning.  He knew how Mike felt, and how the veteran detective was keeping his emotions in check for the moment, but he didn’t know how long it was going to last.  Mike had a very long fuse most of the time, but when it reached its end, the results could sometimes be very explosive.</p><p>The older man was quickly scanning the report that Charlie had just delivered. “There’s a 90 percent chance all three bullets came from the same gun,” he said quietly, glancing up.  “The two removed from the Goodmans were too damaged to make a positive comparison but I’ll take 90 percent.”</p><p>Steve nodded.  </p><p>With a grunt, Mike handed the report to the younger man.  “Listen, ah, we gotta get to that visitation.  Give this to Bill, will ya?  Get him to start trying to track down the Buntline.  There can’t be too many of them in the part of the country, I wouldn’t think.”</p><p>Steve took the report and started across the bullpen to Tanner’s desk.  The black inspector was on the phone but he looked up when his colleague approached, putting his hand over the mouthpiece of the receiver.</p><p>Mike watched the conversation he couldn’t hear, his mind returning again to the image he couldn’t get out of his mind: the bloodstained blankets covering the tiny lifeless body in the crib.  He gritted his teeth, trying to control the fury that kept bubbling up and threatening to override his professional veneer.</p><p>“Hey,” he heard his partner’s voice cut into his abstraction.  He looked up and refocused, raising his eyebrows.  Steve was pointing at his watch.  “We gotta go, right?”</p><p>“Ah, yeah, right.”  Mike stood up, following his partner across the bullpen and out the door.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>The large visitation room of the Sullivan Family Funeral Home was crowded.  The Goodmans were obviously a very well-loved and well-respected family.</p><p>The detectives quickly noted all the family members they had already met were present, as well as the neighbours they had interviewed.  Mike, his fedora in his hand, surveyed the room before glancing at his partner.</p><p>“Remind me to set up a couple of photographers for the funeral tomorrow,” he whispered and Steve nodded.</p><p>“I can do that when we get back.”  It would have been their preference to have a photographer with them now, but it would have been disrespectful, not to mention intrusive and possibly illegal, if they didn’t have the funeral home’s permission, to do so.  </p><p>Mike’s roving eyes had found Mrs. Northcott, who was standing at the far end of the room, near the three closed caskets, with her husband and the others.  They were greeting the steady stream of mourners who continued to pour into the funeral home.</p><p>The coffins, the two large mahogany ones flanking the heartbreakingly small white one, were covered in flowers surrounding 8x10 colour photographs of the Goodman family.</p><p>Mrs. Northcott whispered something to her husband, who glanced in the detectives direction then nodded.  She slowly made her way across the crowded room towards them.</p><p>Mike held his hand out and she shook it warmly. </p><p>“Thank you for coming, Lieutenant,” she said warmly, keeping her voice low as if she didn’t want to be overheard.</p><p>“Of course.”  He glanced up at the throng.  “Your brother-and-sister-in-law were obviously very well-loved people.”</p><p>Mrs. Northcott glanced over her shoulder and smiled sadly.  “Yes, they were…”</p><p>“Ah, you had something you wanted to tell us…?” Steve asked softly and she turned back to him with a melancholic smile.</p><p>“Ah, yes, yes…”   She looked around again quickly.  “Not here.  Let’s go outside.”  She began to lead the way down the hall and through the front door and they followed.</p><p>Out in the bright mid-afternoon sunshine, she turned to face them, her lips in a tight smile.  She was frowning.  They waited with patient smiles.  She took a deep breath then leaned forward slightly, conspiratorially.  “Lieutenant, I could be very wrong about this but… well, something happened this morning that made me very uncomfortable.”</p><p>Mike smiled encouragingly.  “What was that?”</p><p>“Well, we all gathered at the house this morning…  And I want to thank you for letting us do that… I know it’s still a… a crime scene…” she said shakily.  “But the family needed it, especially Robert and Walter.  I don’t think Ellen really wanted to go but, in the end, I think she realized she needed to as well.”</p><p>“You’re welcome,” Mike said with a sympathetic smile.  </p><p>The Commissioner had received a call from the Mayor, who had himself received a call from James Briarly, a friend and major campaign contributor, to request that the extended Goodman family be granted permission to briefly visit the house, with the expressed agreement that nothing would be disturbed and nothing removed.  The request had found its way down the police department food chain to Mike, who had agreed to the appeal.  He had wanted to be present but the family had asked for privacy and he had reluctantly agreed.</p><p>But he knew he had an ace in the hole:  Mrs. Northcott.  From the moment he met her, he knew she wanted to find the killer almost as much as he did, and he also knew she could be the informant he needed, if it turned out the murder was indeed an ‘inside job’.</p><p>“Anyway, um,” she bit her lip and glanced around nervously, clocking the steady stream of people coming and going from the funeral home.  “I hate to speak badly of people…”</p><p>Both detectives were almost holding their breaths, knowing she would eventually get it out but not relishing the suspense.  Mike raised his eyebrows encouragingly.</p><p>“Well, I’ve never really liked him very much…” she started again, hesitantly, “but sometimes Robert Goodman really gets on my nerves.  Like this morning.”</p><p>Resisting the urge to glance at each other, both detectives shifted slightly.  “In what way?” Steve asked.</p><p>Her eyes shifted to him and she inhaled loudly.  “Well, ever since he arrived yesterday, I’ve just been getting the feeling that, well, I don’t know…. That he’s not all that broken up about what happened…”. She shrugged helplessly.</p><p>“What gives you that idea?” Mike asked, thinking back the previous afternoon and his impression that Robert Goodman had been a shattered, grieving brother and uncle.</p><p>“Well,” she began again quietly, “he put on a good act for you yesterday at Ellen’s house, but after you left, he didn’t seem all that broken up to me.  And then this morning…”  She exhaled loudly, angrily.  “This morning, he and that wife of his walked around the house and… my god, it was like they were putting little tags on things… ‘I’ll take that’, ‘I’ll take that’…”  There was real anger in her eyes.</p><p>Frowning, Steve tilted his head.  “What things?”</p><p>She shook her head in wonder.  “Oh, that big wooden desk in the study, a couple of lamps, the dining room table and chairs…. It was disgusting… and very upsetting…”</p><p>“I’ll be it was,” Mike commiserated.  “Thank you.  Thank you very much.”  He glanced at his partner.  “We’ll have a little talk with him.”</p><p>She smiled slightly, relieved.  “Oh yes,  please.  I mean, I don’t think he had anything to do with it, I really don’t… but, Lieutenant, it was just so upsetting to see…”</p><p>Mike reached out and gently gripped her elbow.  “I understand, Mrs. Northcott, believe me, I understand.”</p><p>Her smile got a little wider.  “Call me Linda, please, Lieutenant.  Mrs. Northcott just seems too formal… and too long,” she chuckled warmly.</p><p>Mike smiled.  “All right, if you call me Mike and him Steve.”  He let go of her elbow and pointed at his partner.  </p><p>She looked at the younger man and nodded.  “I can do that.”</p><p>“Good,” Mike chuckled.  “Okay, so, ah, Steve and I’ll go and have a little talk with Mr. Goodman.  How does that sound?”</p><p>“Thank you,” she sighed, turning to lead them back into the funeral home.  She preceded them into the visitation room, and they wasted no time crossing the room and approaching Robert Goodman.</p><p>His eyes widened slightly when he saw them, the surprise quickly turning into a frown of concern.  “Lieutenant, Inspector,” he greeted hesitantly when they stopped in front of him, “I’m surprised to see you here.”</p><p>Mike glanced around the crowded room.  “We, ah, we came to pay our respects.”  He leaned a little closer to the dark-haired younger man.  “And to talk to you again, if you don’t mind.”</p><p>Goodman’s eyes snapped from one cop to the other.  “Again?  What else do you need from me, Lieutenant?”</p><p>Mike smiled; to Goodman it looked friendly; to Steve it looked calculating.  “I think we’d all be more comfortable doing this downtown, don’t you think?”</p><p>“Downtown?” the Angeleno frowned.</p><p>It was Steve’s turn to smile.  “Our place - the Hall of Justice.”  He enunciated each word.  “You remember where that is, right?”</p><p>Goodman swallowed nervously.  “Uh, yeah, I do, but…”  He looked around the room nervously.  “But the visitation… it’s doesn’t end till 4…”  He looked at them almost pleadingly.  “Please, can we do it here?”</p><p>Mike looked down, hesitating for a long beat, then looked up and nodded.  “All right.”  He nodded sharply at the door then turned and started back across the room.   After a quick, confused glanced at his puzzled wife, Goodmen fell into step behind the detective, Steve bringing up the rear.</p><p>When they got out onto the front lawn, Mike spun on the construction company owner.  “Mr. Goodman, tell us again where you were the night your brother and his family were murdered?” he asked sharply and watched as Goodman almost recoiled at the question.</p><p>“I - I told you, Lieutenant, I was in Las Vegas.  I’d driven there the previous day.  I had a business meeting that took all day - we’re hoping to get the contract to build a motel just outside of town - and I drove home the next day.”</p><p>“And you said you don’t have a hotel receipt.  Where did you stay again?”</p><p>“With a friend.”  His eyes darted back and forth between the two detectives.  “I told you all this already.  What’s the problem?”</p><p>“We’re still looking into your finances, Mr. Goodman.  Is there anything you’d like to tell us about that that you might have forgotten?”</p><p>Goodman hesitated, swallowing heavily.  “Like I also told you, things are a little tight right now.  A big contract we were counting on fell through…  That’s why I was in Vegas, hoping to snag that motel contract.  It would get us out of the red.”</p><p>“Did you get it?” Steve asked.</p><p>“I haven’t heard yet.”  Goodman was frowning, and beads of sweat were beginning to form on his brow.</p><p>Mike stared at him in silence for a couple of long beats then raised his head a little.  “I’d like to believe you, Mr. Goodman, I really would.  But I’m having a hard time.  You know what would go a long way to helping me make up my mind?” he asked, smiling when Goodman shook his head slightly.  “It would help if you came down to Bryant Street with us and took a polygraph test.  That way, if you pass, we won’t bother you again.”  He shrugged amiably, the intensity of his stare belying the illusory warmth of his smile.</p><p>Goodman froze, his eyes widening almost imperceptibly but enough that the detectives noticed.  Both of them raised their eyebrows.</p><p>Goodman swallowed then cleared his throat.  His eyes snapped back and forth between them again.  “All right.  If that’s what it takes.”</p><p>Mike’s smile got a little wider.  “Good choice.”</p><p>“Ah, may I… ah, may I go in and tell my wife where I’m going?”</p><p>“Of course,” Mike said genially, gesturing towards the front door with his hat.  “We’ll go with you.”  </p><p>With an enigmatic look between them, the partners followed the shaken man back into the funeral home.</p>
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<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Steve glanced through the glass wall of the interview room, watching as the polygraph examiner set up his equipment, waiting for his signal.  He was standing in the doorway of his partner’s office.  Mike was in his chair, Robert Goodman sitting in one of the guest chairs.</p><p>“It shouldn’t be too long now,” Mike assured, glancing up with a smile that would’ve made Tick-Tock proud; Steve swallowed a smile, covering it with a slight cough.  The older man was making a list on a yellow legal-length pad; since they had entered the small room several long minutes ago, he had made only cursory eye-contact with their nervous guest.</p><p>Goodman wiped his palms on his pants once more.  “I’ve told you the truth, Lieutenant, I had nothing to do with what happened to Charlie and Jane… and little Robbie.  My god, you can’t really believe I would actually do something like that, can you?”</p><p>Mike looked up again, the smile still curling his lips, “Oh, you’d be surprised what people would do, wouldn’t he, Steve?”</p><p>Goodman’s eyes snapped to the younger man standing in the doorway.  </p><p>“He sure would,” the inspector smiled with a confirming nod.  </p><p>“Yes, he would,” Mike muttered, returning to his list.</p><p>Goodman swallowed heavily, rubbing his palms together instead of against his pants.</p><p>Steve glanced towards the interview room again.  The examiner looked up and caught his eye, nodding.  Pushing himself away from the doorframe, Steve looked at the desk.  “Phil’s ready.”</p><p>Mike’s head came up and he nodded, taking off his glasses and tossing them on the desk before standing and picking up the pad.  He tore the top page off and handed it to the younger man, then nodded at the man in the guest chair.  He smiled perfunctorily again.  “Mr. Goodman,” he gestured at the door as Steve crossed to the interview room and opened the glass-paneled wooden door.</p><p>Goodman preceded both detectives into the small room, nodding at the examiner, who indicated the chair on the opposite side of the table before looking at Mike.  “It’ll just take me a couple of minutes to wire him up, Mike.”</p><p>“No rush,” the lieutenant assured, glancing at Steve, who handed the examiner the yellow sheet.</p><p>“Robert Goodman, this is Phil Haberman.  He’s the department’s lie detector examiner,” the lieutenant introduced them.  Steve’s eyes snapped towards his partner, quickly biting his lip to squelch a laugh at the older man’s deliberate use of the term ‘lie detector’ instead of ‘polygraph’.  “He’ll be conducting the examination.”</p><p>Haberman smiled but didn’t extend his hand.  His eyes dropped to the sheet of paper in his hand and he scanned it quickly.</p><p>“Can you read my writing?” Mike asked with a chuckle.</p><p>Haberman shrugged.  “It’s better than most, worse than some.  Yeah, I can read it,” he laughed.</p><p>Still chuckling, Mike turned to the door.  “Then we’ll leave it up to you.”  As he stepped back into the bullpen, Steve closed the door behind him.  “Come on, buddy boy, I’ll buy you a coffee.”</p><p>As was their routine, they retreated to Mike’s office to await the examiner’s report; it wouldn’t take too long.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>They were engrossed in the details of another investigation that had grown cold almost two weeks previous when there was a soft knock on the glass door.  They both looked up to see<br/>Haberman holding up what looked like a ream of folded graph paper.  </p><p>Steve got to his feet and opened the door.  Haberman smiled at them both.  “So, ah, what do you want first - the bad news or the bad news?”</p><p>With a heavy sigh, Mike took off his reading glasses with his left hand, tossing the pen he was holding onto the desk with the other.  “Damn it.  He was telling the truth, wasn’t he?”</p><p>“To every question,” the examiner confirmed.  “Sorry… well, for you guys.  Not for him.”</p><p>Shaking his head in frustration, looking down, Mike snorted.  “Okay, thanks, Phil.  We’ll take it from here.”</p><p>With an apologetic shrug to Steve, Haberman headed back towards the interview room.  Goodman, still sitting in the chair and hooked up to the machine, was staring straight ahead; he obviously had no idea how he had done.</p><p>Haberman dropped the graph on the table then started to undo the pneumograph bands that encircled Goodman’s chest as Mike and Steve entered the room.  Mike crossed to the far side of the table so Goodman could see him while he was being unfastened.  The former suspect was staring at the detective apprehensively, unable to read his neutral expression.</p><p>Mike hesitated for just long enough to make Goodman squirm a little bit more before he said flatly, “You’re free to go, Mr. Goodman.”</p><p>Nobody moved for a long second.  “You mean I passed?” Goodman finally asked, as if not believing the words coming out of his mouth.</p><p>With a quick, almost frustrated sigh, Mike nodded.  “Yeah.  You passed.  So… you can leave as soon as Phil here gets you unhooked.”  He gestured vaguely towards the door.</p><p>Goodman looked down with a short sharp chuckle, his mouth hanging open slightly.  His hands gripped both arms of the chair.  He swallowed heavily and looked up, trying not to laugh.  “Ah… ah, thank you,” he breathed.</p><p>Free from the accoutrements of the polygraph machine, Goodman almost staggered to his feet then to the door, Steve moving out of the way to allow him to pass.  He stopped and turned back into the room, meeting Mike’s stare evenly.  “I know you thought I was guilty, Lieutenant, and I can understand that… but I want you to know I really did love my brother and his wife… and my nephew.  And I would never to do anything to hurt them… anything…”  He paused, his jaw tightening.  “I want to know who did this just as much as you do… maybe more.  And I’ll do anything to help you find out who that was.  I mean that.”</p><p>The two men locked gazes for a couple of very long uncomfortable seconds, neither of them moving.  Then Mike began to nod slowly.  “I believe you, Mr. Goodman.  And thank you,” he said softly.</p><p>With his own curt nod, Goodman turned and made his way across the bullpen to the outer door.  After watching him go, Steve turned to his partner and raised his eyebrows.  </p><p>Mike shrugged then looked at Haberman.  “Thanks, Phil.  We may not’ve gotten the results we wanted, but at least we can cross his name off our list.”</p><p>Haberman was putting the components of the machine in a foam-lined metal case.  “How long is the list?”</p><p>“He was the only one on it,” Steve intoned dryly.</p><p>Haberman froze mid-motion and looked up at him; Steve shrugged.  Haberman looked at Mike apologetically.  “Jeez, sorry, Mike.”</p><p>The older man chuckled wryly.  “It’s not your fault, Phil.”  He looked at Steve.  “Come on, Kemosabe, let’s get back to the drawing board…”  He trudged slowly around the table and out the door.  As he walked past his partner, Steve looked back at Haberman with raised eyebrows and tight smile.</p><p>“Kemosabe?” the polygraph examiner mouthed.</p><p>With a silent chuckle and a shrug, Steve followed the lieutenant across the bullpen.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>Mike took his glasses off, tossed them on the desk then ran both hands over his face.  He laced his fingers then dropped his head into his hands.  Steve leaned back in the chair and stretched, keeping his eyes on his partner’s downturned head.</p><p>“You wanna take a break?”</p><p>Mike looked up then exhaled loudly.  “You mean like a go-home break or a go-out-for-dinner break?”</p><p>Steve shrugged.  “Your call.  It’s been a long day already.”</p><p>Mike glanced at his watch.  “It’s only six.  You can go if you want.  I know I’ll just sit around my place thinking about this case and what we still have to do… so…?”  It was his turn to shrug.</p><p>The younger man chuckled dryly.  “Yeah, you’re right.  Wanna go grab a bite and come back?”</p><p>Mike studied him for a beat then nodded.  “Yeah, that sounds like a good idea.” </p><p>They both started to roll down their sleeves as they got ready to leave the office.  It had turned out to be a very busy afternoon.  They had received all the material that Steve had requested from Charles Goodman’s financial advisory company.  Eight large bankers boxes filled with files and papers had been delivered mid-afternoon, and they had started to work their way through the forms filled with enough legalize to make anyone’s head spin.  They were rapidly coming to the conclusion that they might need the assistance of a financial expert, if not a forensic accountant.  But, until then, they wanted to work their way through everything on their own in the off-chance they could discover a disgruntled client.</p><p>So far they hadn’t found a thing.</p><p>Mike had just slipped his jacket on and was reaching into the top desk drawer to take out his .38 when the outer door opened and Colin Baer walked into the bullpen.  He had a manila file folder in one hand and a troubled scowl on his face.  He glanced at Steve, who was standing behind his desk shrugging on his jacket, as he passed on the way to the inner office.</p><p>Mike smiled when the assistant medical examiner stopped at his open door.  “Well, it’s about time you guys finished with that.  I was beginning to wonder.”  He reached out to receive it but Baer just held it tighter.  He frowned and tilted his head.  “What, you’re delivering it but not giving it to me?” he asked curiously.</p><p>Baer shifted uncomfortably as Steve, adjusting his jacket, moved closer.</p><p>Glancing from one partner to the other, Baer took one step deeper into the office.  “Listen, ah, Mike… this may not have turned out the way you wanted it to…”</p><p>The lieutenant’s frown got a little deeper.  “What do you mean?”</p><p>The M.E. looked away briefly and shook his head.  “McDonnell, well, he sees things a little differently…. For the past couple of days he’s been doing some…. Investigative work of his own about this case…” His eyes darted back and forth between the two detectives then settled on the lieutenant.  “He, ah… well, his conclusion might not be what you were expecting, Mike…”. Almost reluctantly he held the folder out.</p><p>Maintaining a way eye contact, Mike took the folder.  Steve and Baer watched as the older man retrieved his glasses from the desk, put them on and opened the file.  He scanned the first two pages quickly, then flipped to the third.  He froze, slowly lifting his head to pin Baer with a furious stare.  “What the hell…?” he almost breathed.</p><p>Feeling Steve’s frowning eyes boring into the side of his face, Baer nodded.  “Yeah,” he said softly, dejectedly.  He took a deep breath and glanced at Steve.  “Five years ago, Jane Goodman’s mother committed suicide… she hung herself..  She had a history of depression and she’d tried to kill herself a couple of times before.</p><p>“McDonnell figures it runs in the family…. That Jane Goodman suffered from her own depression… and the birth of the baby just exasperated it…” His voice was barely above a whisper.  He stared at the floor for a long beat, unable to meet the angry blue eyes burning a hole into his own.  He sighed loudly and raised his head, looking sideways at the inspector standing beside him.</p><p>“He’s ruled it a murder-suicide… at the hand of Jane Goodman.”  He looked at the lieutenant and shook his head sadly.  “The case is closed, Mike.”</p>
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<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“What do you mean ‘the case is closed’?” Steve asked quickly, keeping his eyes on his partner as Mike continued to stare at the autopsy report in his hand.</p><p>Baer turned to the inspector.  “I mean, it’s a done deal now, Steve.  If O’Donnell says officially it was suicide, then it’s suicide, period.  There’s no homicide investigation anymore.”</p><p>“What about the gun?”</p><p>Baer gestured with his chin at the report.  “‘Removed by party or parties unknown…’”</p><p>“What?!”  Steve couldn’t keep the anger and incredulity out of his voice.</p><p>Baer shrugged helplessly.</p><p>Mike’s head came up slowly.  “Is he still there?” he asked quietly.</p><p>Baer frowned, shaking his head slightly in confusion.</p><p>“O’Donnell.  Is he still there?”  The tone remained low and even.  The hairs on the back of Steve’s neck started to rise.</p><p>“In the coroner’s office?  Yeah.  Well, at least he was when I left just now.”</p><p>Without a word, Mike pushed his way between the two younger men, the report still in his hand, and strode quickly across the bullpen.  He was almost out the door before a startled Steve, taken by surprise, started to follow.  “Mike!”  </p><p>Not slowing down, Mike charged out into the half-empty corridor, heading towards the elevators.  Increasing his pace, Steve caught up with his partner just before the elevators but Mike continued towards the staircase.  He threw the door open and started down the steps two at a time, his left hand on the railing.  </p><p>“Mike!”  Steve was right behind him, his eyes on the back of the older man’s head.  “Mike, come on, don’t do this…”  He tried to keep the pleading tone out of his voice, hoping to get through to his irate partner before they got to bottom floor.  </p><p>The older man almost flew past the exit to the first floor and continued down, Steve right on his heels.  As they reached the final set of stairs, Mike jumped down the remaining three steps to the green tiled floor, his right hand on the railing post to spin himself towards the large metal door that led into the fluorescent-lit corridor.  Steve caught up to him as he reached the double doors of the coroner’s office and grabbed his sleeve, trying to pull him back.  “Mike, come on, please.  Don’t do this, please…”</p><p>Pausing for a very brief second to turn his blazing eyes on his partner and pull his arm free, Mike threw the door open and charged into the small empty reception area.  He knew where the Chief Medical Examiner’s office was and strode quickly down the hallway towards it.  With a short, sharp, angry and frustrated growl, Steve followed.</p><p>John McDonnell was standing beside the coat rack in the far corner of his small office, putting on his suit jacket; his white lab coat was already hung.  He looked up, startled, when the Homicide lieutenant appeared in the doorway, breathing heavily and staring at him with thinly-veiled fury.  An equally winded, and seemingly very concerned, younger man appeared behind him, his obviously worried eyes darting back and forth between the two older men.</p><p>O’Donnell, a tall, thickset, grey-haired and bespectacled man, someone who looked like he expected and demanded deference, looked almost dismissively at the enraged lieutenant then continued putting on his coat.  </p><p>Steve closed his eyes in anticipation of what he knew was coming.</p><p>Mike raised the report in his left hand.  “What the f#%k is this?”</p><p>Steve’s eyes snapped open; he had never, ever heard Mike use that word.  Every muscle and nerve in his body was sudden on full alert.</p><p>O’Donnell’s eyes slid slowly from Mike’s face to the report and back again.  “You know very well what that is.  It’s my report on the Goodman case.”  His calm voice dripped barely controlled sarcasm.</p><p>“It’s a farce,” Mike spat out.  “It was not a murder-suicide.  Jane Goodman did not kill her husband and her son.”  He enunciated each word slowly and carefully.</p><p>Steve could see his partner trembling with the effort to control himself; he reached out and gently grabbed the bottom of Mike’s jacket, prepared to hold him back if necessary.</p><p>O’Donnell smiled coldly.  “Well, maybe that’s what you think, but I believe that she did.  Do you have any evidence that she didn’t?”</p><p>“There was no gun found in the house, and there is no evidence that there was ever a gun in the Goodman house at any time.”</p><p>O’Donnell bent down and picked up his briefcase then bestowed his most patient half-smile on the detectives standing in the doorway.  “Come on, Lieutenant, you know as well as I do how easy it is for anyone to acquire a gun nowadays.  And as for where it disappeared to?  Well, from what I learned, Mrs. Goodman had a lot of friends who would not want her… stellar reputation to be ruined.  It wouldn’t’ve been hard for one of them to dispose of the gun… for a friend.”  He took a step towards the door; Mike moved to stop his path.  Everybody froze.</p><p>Steve could hear Mike’s short, sharp breaths, see his shoulders heaving.  He tightened his grip on the back of his partner’s jacket.</p><p>O’Donnell stared passively into the furious blue eyes.  “I’m leaving,” he said calmly.</p><p>Mike took a step forward, closing the gap between them even more.  He shook his head.  “No, you’re not.”</p><p>With a heavy, almost scornful sigh, the M.E. clasped his hands in front of himself, the briefcase dangling from one hand.  “And just what do you hope to accomplish with this little… show of defiance, Lieutenant?”</p><p>“To change your mind.”</p><p>O’Donnell snorted and shook his head sardonically.  “Well, don’t waste your time.  That’s not going to happen.”  He raised his eyebrows.  “Now, if you don’t mind, I have a dinner with the mayor to go to.”  He started to move around the detective but Mike stepped into his path again.  O’Donnell stopped, staring at the incensed face now inches from his own.  “If you don’t get out of my way, Lieutenant Stone, I will call Security.”</p><p>Into the silence that followed the not so thinly veiled threat, Steve whispered softly.  “Come on, Mike, let’s go…”</p><p>O’Donnell lips curled slightly.  “You better listen to your partner, Lieutenant, or this could get very ugly very quickly…”</p><p>When Mike didn’t move, the M.E. snorted derisively again, stepping around both detectives and starting out the door.  Mike spun on his heel.  “This isn’t over,” he growled.</p><p>O’Donnell paused in the doorway and looked back.  “Yes, it is.  I suggest you… and your partner here,” he nodded at Steve dismissively, “concentrate on those other cases you haven’t solved yet.”  He smiled coldly.  “You do have some, I’m sure.”  He took a step down the corridor then stopped and looked back.  “Oh, ah, when you leave, close the door behind yourselves, will you?”  With a rictus smile, he continued down the corridor and out of their sight.  They heard the door to the stairwell open and close.</p><p>Relaxing somewhat, Steve took his hand off the back of his partner’s jacket.  Mike was staring into space, still breathing heavily through his nose.  After several long seconds, he looked at the younger man, the anger still visible on his strong features.  “I want to talk to Rudy,” he said quickly, starting towards the door.</p><p>Steve grabbed his sleeve and pulled him to a stop. “Not now,” he said firmly.</p><p>Turning back with fire in his eyes, Mike pulled his arm free.  “Yes, now.”</p><p>Moving quickly, Steve stepped in front of his partner and put a hand on his chest.  “No, you’re not.”  </p><p>Mike froze, his eyes narrowing; Steve met the stare evenly.  A very tense silence lengthened between them then the younger man said quietly, “I’m on your side, Mike, you know I am.  But this is not a good time for you… for either of us… to take our case to Rudy, and you know that too.”</p><p>Very slowly, still meeting the younger man’s sympathetic gaze, Mike began almost imperceptibly to relax.  Steve briefly closed his eyes and released a deeply held breath.  “Listen, ah,” he said softly, “let’s go back to the office, get out stuff and get outa here.  How about we go for dinner?  It’s on me.”</p><p>Mike was staring into space; when he didn’t respond, Steve touched his arm, watching as the blue eyes focused on him again.  “Humh?”</p><p>The younger man smiled warmly.  “I said, why don’t we go for dinner?  On me.”</p><p>The ghost of a smile playing over his lips, Mike’s eyes softened and he nodded slowly, gratefully.  “Yeah, I think that’s a good idea, buddy boy.”</p><p>“Good,” Steve smiled, turning to lead the way out of the office.  He looked back when Mike followed him out into the corridor.  “Oh, ah, don’t forget to close the door,” he instructed with a chuckle.</p><p>Mike looked at him sharply and frowned.  “Screw him,” he said sharply, starting down the corridor, leaving the door wide open.  “I’m gonna leave the lights on too.”</p><p>Chuckling, Steve fell into step beside him.  They reached the door to the stairwell and Mike reached for the knob.  </p><p>“Hey,” Steve’s voice stopped him and he looked up to see the younger man pointing further down the corridor.  “I don’t know about you but I have no intention of walking up five flights of stairs to the office, do you?”</p><p>Mike looked to where he was pointing and chuckled, taking his hand off the doorknob.  “No, you’re right.”</p><p>Laughing gently, Steve pushed the button for the elevator as his partner joined him.  Mike stuck the report under his arm and stuffed both hands in his pants pockets, looking down.  Steve waited patiently beside him for the elevator car to arrive.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>Mike handed the menu to the waitress with a perfunctory smile then dropped his head again, once more rearranging the cutlery in front of him on the dark wooden table.  Steve stared at the top of his partner’s head, something he had been doing a lot since they had arrived at the Irish pub in SoMa district about fifteen minutes before.  </p><p>Conversation had been at a premium since they’d stepped into the elevator on the basement floor in the Hall.  He knew Mike had been thinking about what had transpired in the last half hour, a half hour that had changed the course of everything.  </p><p>He picked up the tall, cold glass of beer and took another sip.  Setting it down quietly on the coaster, he began casually, “So, ah, have you decided what we should do next?”</p><p>Mike stopped moving the fork and looked up; Steve met the stare with a slight but knowing smile.  The older man sighed.  “I’m not going to stop,” he said softly with a slight shake of his head.</p><p>Steve’s smile got a little wider.  “I never thought you were.”</p><p>The older man smiled self-consciously, picking up his beer and taking a sip.  As he put it down, he leaned forward.  “Do you know anybody on the Los Angeles police force?”</p><p>Steve pursed his lips and shook his head.  “No.  Why?”</p><p>“I want to talk to someone in their homicide division… about O’Donnell.  See if he, ah… well, see if anyone down there had a… problem with him before… or if it’s just me…”  He raised his eyebrows and shook his head in frustration and lingering anger.</p><p>“I’ll ask around, see if I can find someone who knows someone.  So, ah, what do you want to do tomorrow?”</p><p>“Well, I’m gonna go see Rudy first thing in the morning and if I can’t get anywhere with him I’ll go further up the chain,” he said, his right index finger pointing at the ceiling.  “I’ll go right to the Chief if I have to but I’m not gonna let this end with that report.  It’s wrong.  She didn’t do it.  She didn’t kill her baby.  They were murdered, Steve, and I’m going to prove it, even if it’s the last thing I ever do.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Steve followed his partner through the anteroom into the bullpen, stopping at his desk as the older man crossed slowly to the inner office.  He had insisted on dropping Mike off at home after dinner the night before and picking him up this morning.  It had seemed like a nice gesture, but both of them knew it was to keep the lieutenant from confronting any of his superior officers before he had the chance to cool down and approach the situation in a calm and deliberate frame of mind.</p><p>It seemed to have worked, the inspector thought to himself as he watched his partner hang the fedora on the coat rack before circling the desk.  Mike was just about to take off his jacket when he froze, obviously noticing something on his desk that demanded his full and immediate attention.  </p><p>Rolling up his shirtsleeves, Steve approached the inner office door.  The small room was still filled with the bankers boxes of files on Charles Goodman’s clients.  Sensing his presence, Mike looked up.  The younger man gestured at the desk with his chin.  “What’s that?”</p><p>With a sigh, Mike picked up the small yellow telephone message.  “Rudy wants to see me immediately.”  He raised his eyebrows.</p><p>Steve frowned.  “How did he hear about it so fast?  Do you think O’Donnell called him last night?”</p><p>“Or the Mayor…” Mike snorted dryly.</p><p>With a facial shrug, Steve tilted his head and tried a small smile.  “It might not be about that at all, right?”</p><p>“What are the odds…?”  Mike’s smile was wan and ironic.  He exhaled loudly.  “Well, I better go see what he wants.”  He circled the desk, exiting the office as Steve took a step back to let him pass, patting him on the shoulder as he did so.  </p><p>The older man didn’t look back as he disappeared through the anteroom door.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>Steve glanced at his watch again.  It had been almost three hours since his partner had been summoned to their captain’s office and he hadn’t heard word one.  He hoped Mike would return soon.  The Goodman funeral was scheduled for one that afternoon and they both wanted to be there, along with a couple of departmental photographers.  The case had been big news in the local papers and they knew there would be a good deal of publicity, and attendance from the curious, at the funeral.</p><p>But, while he waited, he’d had a productive morning.  Even though the Goodman case was closed, he knew Mike would still pursue it unless ordered not to and, until he himself was pulled off it officially by Mike or someone higher up, he would continue to pursue the open avenues of their investigation.</p><p>He had finally received the list of Colt Buntline purchases in California and the surrounding states.  Discouragingly, it was a longer list than he had anticipated; there had been 1,273 purchases of the ‘Peacemakers’ in California, Nevada, Oregon and Arizona since they had first been manufactured in 1958.  And who knew how many had changed hands since then.</p><p>It would take days to go through the list, and he needed to know the names of all the Goodman relatives in case a purchase had been made by someone else in the family tree.  And that didn’t include friends and acquaintances.  So if the names Goodman or Northcott didn’t appear on the list, it could all be a bust.</p><p>And there was still the bankers boxes of Goodman’s files they had to continue to plow their way through.  </p><p>The department door opened and he looked up.  Mike, his face expressionless, stepped into the bullpen and headed towards his office, glancing briefly in his partner’s direction but saying nothing.  He circled the desk, standing as if in a trance as he stared down at the open files and messages on the desk.</p><p>Getting to his feet, Steve crossed to the open door, frowning.  “What did he say?”</p><p>Mike looked up, eyebrows knit.  “Who?”</p><p>Steve’s head went back slightly, surprised.  “Rudy?  Who else?”</p><p>“Oh, ah,” Mike snorted dryly, “ah, he didn’t have much to say.  The Chief did though.”</p><p>The younger man’s face fell.  “The Chief?”</p><p>“Yeah, ah, seems he wanted to see me too.”  He fell silent and stared once more at the top of his desk.  He seemed far away.</p><p>Steve waited for a couple of beats then repeated softly, “So, ah, what did he say?”</p><p>Mike sighed.  “Well, ah, he wanted to know all about the Goodman case, and I told him everything that we knew, and everything that we suspected, and I told him why we didn’t think it was a murder-suicide…”</p><p>“And?”</p><p>Mike met the worried green eyes evenly.  “Well, the Chief doesn’t seem to think we have enough to overturn O’Donnell’s findings.”</p><p>“He’s siding with O’Donnell?”  Steve’s attempt to keep the incredulity out of his voice was woefully unsuccessful.</p><p>“I argued, as best as I could, but he wouldn’t see it my way.”  Mike shrugged helplessly.</p><p>“You argued?” Steve asked hesitantly.</p><p>Mike smiled wryly, nodding.  “Quite… vociferously, as you would say.”  He smiled warmly but his eyes remained sad and worried.</p><p>The younger man knew there was more.  Mike picked up one of the files, closed it and turned to put it in one of the open boxes.  It was a distracting move, Steve knew, and he waited for a beat before asking quietly, “Did they suspend you?”</p><p>Mike’s eyes shot to his partner’s face and he smiled with a snort.  “No… no…”  He lifted the right flap of his jacket, exposing his holster.  “See, I still have my gun.  They didn’t suspend me.”</p><p>“Then what?” Steve pressed, knowing the older man was being deliberately evasive.</p><p>Mike stopped midway through closing another file and stared at the younger man briefly in defiance before he dropped his head momentarily, threw the file back on the desk and looked up into the worried green eyes.  “I’ve been transferred.”</p><p>Steve’s eyes widened and his world suddenly narrowed.  The sounds of the bullpen behind him disappeared as he stared into the sad blue eyes staring back at him.  “What?”  The word was barely a whisper.</p><p>Mike smiled wistfully.  “It’s not permanent, it’s just for three months.  The Chief seems to think I need a… a change of scenery for a little while…”  He snorted, trying to maintain the smile.</p><p>“Mike…”</p><p>“It’ll be okay.  You’re staying here, this has nothing to do with you…. It’s, ah -“</p><p>“This is O’Donnell’s doing, isn’t it?”</p><p>Mike held a hand up.  “I don’t know that,” he said quickly.</p><p>“But they can’t transfer you -“</p><p>“Oh yes, they can,” the older man interrupted with a dry chuckle.  “I’m just a lieutenant, Steve, I have no say where I’m assigned, you know that.”</p><p>Steve looked into space, shaking his head incomprehensibly, trying to process the stunning new information.  “Where are you going?”</p><p>Mike chuckled again.  “Well, ah, that’s the really interesting part of all this… sort of, ah, poetic justice I guess you could call it.  I’m being assigned to Internal Affairs.”</p><p>His partner’s head snapped up, stunned.  “You’re kidding…”</p><p>Mike snorted.  “I wish I was.”  He looked back down at the desk and shook his head.  “Listen, ah, I’ve gotta get all this cleaned up and put away.”  He looked up again.  “Oh, ah, you’re now officially off the Goodman case too.”  He shrugged apologetically.  </p><p>Steve watched for several long silent seconds as Mike continued to pick up the folders on his desk and put them in the boxes.  “What do you want to do with all this stuff?” he asked quietly.</p><p>Mike glanced up and smiled enigmatically.  “Well, there’s no room here to store it so I guess I’ll take it home,” he said softly. </p><p>With a knowing smile, Steve moved closer to the desk and started to help put the files away.  </p><p>“Oh, ah,” Mike began conversationally, continuing to move the folders, “I’m, ah, I’m taking a couple of days off.  Rudy knows a couple of detectives down in L.A. that I’m gonna call.”</p><p>“Oh yeah?”</p><p>“Yeah.”  He gestured towards the bullpen.  “So what were you working on this morning?”</p><p>“Oh, ah, I finally got that list of gun purchases.”  He looked at his partner and raised his eyebrows.  “There’s a lot more than I was expecting.”</p><p>“I figured there would be.  It’s a popular gun.  Wyatt Earp’s gun,” Mike added with a chuckle.</p><p>Steve smiled melancholically and swallowed heavily.  “Who’s taking over for you?”</p><p>The lieutenant shrugged.  “I have no idea. It’s still all pretty new, you know…”</p><p>“Yeah.  So, ah, you want that list of gun purchases too?”</p><p>Mike glanced up and smiled.  “Why not?”</p><p># # # # #</p><p>“Lieutenant Stone?”  The tall, handsome, grey-haired cop, who looked remarkably like the Marlboro man, stood, reaching out to shake the San Francisco detective’s hand.  “Roger Newton.  This is Andy Kennedy,” he introduced the shorter, stockier blond man who had risen to his feet as well.</p><p>“Mike, please,” he said with a smile, shaking both men’s hands, “call me Mike.”</p><p>“All right,” Newton responded with a dazzling smile, “Mike it is.  If you call us Roger and Andy.”  He gestured at the empty chair on the far side of the table.</p><p>With a chuckle, Mike sat, taking off his fedora and putting it on the floor under his chair.  “Thank you so much for agreeing to see me on such short notice.”</p><p>Kennedy glanced at Newton, trying unsuccessful to hide a smile.  “Mike, your call was most welcome, believe me.”  He nodded towards the large, leather-covered menu sitting on top of the white plate.  “You might want to figure out what you want to order… this place is great but a little slow sometimes,” he chuckled.</p><p>Laughing, Mike picked up the menu, looking around.  “This is very impressive.”  He looked at the two LAPD detectives, frowning slightly.  “You guys come here a lot?”</p><p>Newton chuckled.  “Not really.  Only for special occasions.”</p><p>“This is a special occasion?”</p><p>“You bet it is.”  He sounded confidently enigmatic, and Mike’s frown deepened.</p><p>“Well, dinner’s on me, fellas.  I appreciate you letting me pick your brains.”  He glanced at the prices for the a la carte menu and his heart skipped a beat but he managed to keep his expression from registering his shock.</p><p>“So, ah, you drove down here today?”</p><p>Mike glanced up from the menu and smiled.  “Yeah.  Got here about an hour ago.  Then I had to find this place,” he chuckled.  He looked at the menu again.  “What would you guys recommend?”</p><p>Kennedy smiled.  “Well, you look like a meat-and-potatoes kinda guy, I would think.”</p><p>Mike smiled at him with raised eyebrows, nodding.</p><p>Chuckling, Kennedy continued, “It’s a little on the expensive side, but I’d recommend the prime rib.  Nobody in L.A. does it better.”</p><p>“Amen to that,” Newton chimed in.</p><p>Mike looked at them both, grinning.  “Then it’ll have to be the prime rib.”  He closed the menu with a snap.  </p><p>Newton reached for the open bottle of red wine standing on the empty side of the table.  “Wine?”</p><p>Mike pushed his glass forward slightly.  “Please.”</p><p>Smiling as he poured, Newton chuckled, “It’s a Napa Valley Cabernet… in your honor.”</p><p>Mike laughed as he picked up the glass and took a sip.  “Excellent choice.”</p><p>As they waited for the waiter to return and take their order, Kennedy leaned over the table slightly.  “So, ah, you’ve had a, ah… a disagreement with John G. O’Donnell?”</p><p>Mike’s smile disappeared.  “A ‘disagreement’ is a good way to put it, I guess, yeah.  That’s what I want to talk to you fellas about.”</p><p>Kennedy looked at Newton and they both raised their eyebrows slightly.  “What to you want to know?” Newton asked, clasping his hands together and resting his forearms against the edge of the table.</p><p>“I want to know if O’Donnell ever overrode any of you guys on a case… you know, closed one prematurely before you could really solve it to your satisfaction?”</p><p>After a long beat, Newton leaned back and glanced at his colleague.  The waiter approached their table.  “Order anything you want, Mike, it’s on us.”  When the San Francisco lieutenant frowned and opened his mouth to protest, he continued, “For anybody who’s willing to take John G. O’Donnell down a peg or two, it’s the least we can do.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter 12</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The waiter nodded with a slight bow and headed towards the kitchen with their orders.  Mike leaned over the table, leaning on his forearms, his hands clasped.  His brows knit.  “I, ah, I take it from your tone… and your words… that there’s no love lost between you guys and O’Donnell?”</p><p>Newton looked down and chuckled mirthlessly and Kennedy rolled his eyes, grinning.  </p><p>Mike smiled, relaxing in the knowledge he was definitely on the right track here, and that this expensive little foray to Los Angeles wasn’t going to be in vain.</p><p>Kennedy looked at his colleague then sat forward.  “Where do you want us to start?”  He raised his chin slightly.  “Why don’t you tell us what happened with you, and then we’ll get a better idea of what you need from us.”</p><p>Mike nodded.  “Okay.”  For the next several minutes, he told them about the Goodman case, about the lack of a gun in the house, the position of three bodies, the fact that the little boy had been shot from the door, the slug they had dug from the wall and the identification of the firearm used.  He told them about the siblings and the elimination of Robert Goodman as a suspect, about the Goodman files they had just started working through and the list of gun purchases.</p><p>Then he told them of the autopsy report and the stunning conclusion that O’Donnell had come to about Jane Goodman and her mental instability, about her mother’s suicide, and her friends staunch belief that she would never kill herself, let alone her husband and her baby son. As a footnote he briefly mentioned his ‘disagreement’ and his temporary reassignment to Internal Affairs.</p><p>When he finished, the L.A. detectives were just as incensed as he was, and they weren’t above showing it.  “The god damn son-of-a-bitch,” Kennedy spat out.  He glanced at Newton.  “Sound familiar?”</p><p>Newton shook his head angrily.  “Oh yeah, it sure does.”</p><p>The waiter arrived with their appetizers; all three had ordered Caesar side salads and they waited till he was once more out of earshot.</p><p>“So what has he done to you?” Mike asked almost casually, putting his napkin on his lap before reaching for a fork.</p><p>“Me?” Newton asked with a wry chuckle.  “Something very much like what you just described.”  He picked up his own fork and stabbed at the lettuce.  “I had a domestic a few years ago.  This guy used his wife as a punching bag for years, but she wouldn’t leave him because of the kids.  Anyway, one day she turns up dead - raped, beaten and strangled to death.  Everyone thought it was the husband, of course, and he was arrested on the spot, but the more I talked to him, and the more I heard from the neighbours and the people he worked with, the more I figured it couldn’t be the husband, it had to be someone else.”  He put the lettuce in his mouth and chewed.</p><p>“So anyway, I’m working to find out who else would do something like that, in that neighborhood, and I’d gotten some good leads, when all of a sudden the autopsy report comes out and, lo and behold,” he gestured towards Mike with his fork, “O’Donnell says it was a suicide.  According to him, she’d had enough of the abuse and she killed herself.”  He punctuated the last phrase with a wave of his fork.</p><p>Mike’s eyes narrowed.  “How did he explain the beating and the rape?”</p><p>“Oh, the husband did that part, he said, so I could arrest him for that, but he didn’t kill her, she killed herself.  I agreed with him that the husband didn’t kill her, but somebody else sure as hell did and I was well on my way to finding out just exactly who that was.  But because O’Donnell said in the autopsy report that it was a suicide, my hands were tied.  The case was closed.”</p><p>“Just like with me,” Mike mused quietly, looking down and moving the salad around with his fork.</p><p>Kennedy looked at the San Francisco detective with raised brows.  “My case wasn’t as dramatic, but it was eerily similar.  But, ah, the guy you should really be talking to is Dennis Kirkby.”</p><p>Mike raised his eyebrows and tilted his head slightly.</p><p>Newton snorted.  “God, yeah, but he won’t talk to anybody.”</p><p>“What happened to him?”</p><p>Glancing at his colleague, Newton leaned over the table.  “Dennis Kirkby was one of the best Homicide detectives our department had ever seen.”</p><p>“Had?” Mike asked cautiously, his salad momentarily forgotten.</p><p>“Had,” Kennedy confirmed sadly.</p><p>Newton glanced at his colleague, nodding, before he continued.  “Dennis had this case a few years ago.  This middle-aged woman was beaten to death in her own home.  She lived alone, didn’t have a boyfriend, that kinda thing.  O’Donnell did the autopsy, confirmed she was beaten to death but couldn’t confirm what kind of weapon was used.  He thought it might have been a hammer but he couldn’t tell for sure, the skull was too crushed.  There was nothing like that left at the scene so everyone was at a loss…</p><p>“Anyway, ah, Dennis was the lead on that case, and those first 24, 48 hours he worked on it like a sonuvabitch… don’t think he slept the entire time.  I think the woman reminded him of his sister for some reason.  Anyway, something kept bugging him about the case… you know how that is, right?”</p><p>Mike nodded with a dry chuckle.</p><p>“He kept thinking there was something missing, he kept going over the photos of the body, the autopsy photos, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.  Well, the case went cold really fast but he couldn’t put it out of his mind.  About three months after the murder, he said he woke up in the middle of the night one night and had a brainstorm.  He went to his captain then went up the food chain.  He wanted another autopsy; he was convinced that O’Donnell had missed something.”</p><p>Mike frowned and sat back, completely engrossed.  None of them noticed the waiter surreptitiously removing their empty salad plates.</p><p>“He got approval from the Chief, who’d also had a few run-ins with O’Donnell - who ruled his office, it seems, like a kingdom - and from the woman’s family, and the body was exhumed.  It was taken to the coroner’s office in San Diego - everybody wanted to be absolutely sure that O’Donnell wouldn’t hear about it.”</p><p>“Did they find anything?”</p><p>Newton looked at Kennedy and a small smile played over his face.  Kennedy looked at Mike and raised his brows.  “She had a bullet in her brain.”</p><p>Mike’s eyes widened.  “What?”</p><p>Newton nodded in confirmation.  “Yep.  O’Connell hadn’t removed and examined the brain so he missed the .38 calibre slug in her head.”</p><p>“The beating, the crushed skull, had destroyed the entrance wound it seems,” Kennedy added facetiously.</p><p>“But that’s no reason not to autopsy the brain, is it?”  Mike sounded just a shocked as they expected him to be.</p><p>Newton raised his eyebrows and tilted his head; Kennedy just snorted.</p><p>“How did he get away with it?”</p><p>“O’Donnell?  Oh, ah, he said it wasn’t him that had done the actual autopsy, it was one of his assistants.  He just signed off on it,” Kennedy explained with barely suppressed anger.</p><p>“And he got away with that?”</p><p>“You have no idea the pull he had down here, Mike.  He was the politician’s best friend; part of that ‘old boy’s club’.  And he was a ‘media star’.”</p><p>The waiter returned with their entrees and they waited till the plates had been distributed and the waiter had vanished before Mike asked, “What do you mean by ‘media star’?”</p><p>“Well, you guys probably didn’t hear much about it up north there,” Kennedy continued with a chuckle, “but we had a number of high profile cases down here during the years O’Donnell was the M.E.  And he helped ‘make the case’ in all of them.  The press loved him, and because the press loved him, the powers that be loved him.  He made them look good.  In their eyes, he could do no wrong.”</p><p>Knowing there was more to the story, Mike, his knife and fork in hand, paused and fixed Kennedy with a stare.  “You said Kirkby ‘was’ the best detective.  What happened to him?”</p><p>Newton, who had cut a piece off his prime rib, looked up from the plate and met the concerned blue eyes evenly.  “He, ah, he ended up like you.  They transferred him to Missing Persons.  He was furious, of course.  He didn’t go; he pulled the pin instead.  He had almost thirty years in, so…”  He put the piece of meat into his mouth, shrugging.</p><p>Nodding slowly, Mike looked down at his plate, cut off a piece of the prime rib and popped it into his mouth.  He smiled.  “You’re right,” he said with a chuckle after he swallowed, “that is great.”</p><p>Kennedy nodded with raised eyebrows.  “Best in town.”</p><p>“This Kirkby, he still around?”</p><p>Newton shook his head.  “No.  He was from Chicago originally and he moved back.  I think some of the old-timers have kept in touch with him but I’m not sure.  I could ask around if you’re interested.”</p><p>“I’ll think about it.  See how everything plays out first.”  Mike bobbled his head slightly.  “You’ve certainly given me some food for thought.”</p><p>“Well, I have to tell you, a lot of us were surprised to hear he came out retirement to head up your way.  When he left here, we thought he was done with the coroner’s office for good, but I guess he missed the adulation.”  The sarcasm just dripped from Kennedy’s tone.  “But you know, you’ll be going up against more than just O’Donnell if you decide to take him on.  You’ll be going up against his reputation and all his connections.  And believe me, he has a lot of them, in some very high places.”</p><p>“Yeah…” Mike sighed, slowly working his way through his meal.  “But there’s an innocent woman’s reputation on the line… and the death of a little boy that should never have happened.”  He shifted on the chair and reached into his right front pants pocket, slipping his wallet out.  He opened it, took out a small colour photograph and tossed it on the table so the others could see it.  “That’s Robbie Goodman.”</p><p>Both L.A. cops stared uncomfortably at the smiling boy in the picture;  Kennedy inhaled unsteadily.  “Looks like my grandson.”</p><p>“That’s why I won’t stop,” Mike said simply as he picked up the photo and put it back in the wallet.</p><p>Newton met his eyes when he looked up.  “You don’t have to explain that to us.”</p><p>With a knowing nod, Mike put the wallet in his pocket then returned to his meal.</p><p>Newton has just stabbed a piece of roasted potato when he froze suddenly then fixed Mike with narrowed eyes.  “What was Mrs. Goodman’s maiden name?” he asked.</p><p>“Northcott.  Why?”</p><p>The grey-haired lieutenant looked at his colleague.  “Does that name ring any bells with you?”</p><p>Kennedy pursed his lips and shook his head.  </p><p>“Well, it does to me.”  He looked at Mike.  “When are you going home?”</p><p>“Tomorrow morning.  Why?”</p><p>“Do me a favor, will you?  Hang around until I give you a call?  I want to do some digging around tomorrow morning.  There’s that little voice screaming at me in the back of my mind.  You know what I mean, right?”</p><p>Mike smiled.  “Oh yeah, I know that little voice.”</p><p>“Yeah…” Newton mused quietly.  He brought his left wrist up and glanced at his watch.  “Damn, too late to call Records now.”</p><p>Mike’s smile grew a little wider.  “You remind me of me,” he chuckled.</p><p>Both L.A. detectives laughed.  “I guess it comes with territory, doesn’t it?” Newton grinned.</p><p>They all laughed knowingly.  </p><p>“So, ah, what’s the homicide rate up there in that ‘City By The Bay’, as Tony calls it in that song of his?” </p><p>They spent the remainder of the evening swapping stories of their respective cities, enjoying the camaraderie of the brotherhood.  But all three of them knew that an important first step towards redemption had been taken tonight, and it was one that none them knew where it was going to lead.</p>
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<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Chapter 13</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Homicide, Keller.”</p><p>“Miss me yet?”</p><p>Steve laughed, his eyes automatically snapping to the glassed-walled inner office and Captain Roy Devitt behind the metal desk.  “Every minute.”</p><p>“Yeah, right.  So who’s sitting in my chair?”</p><p>“Roy.”</p><p>“Humh, okay.  Could be worse, I guess.”</p><p>“Oh yeah, definitely.  So did you report to IA this morning?”</p><p>“Nope.  I called Rudy first thing this morning and told him I was taking the next two weeks off.  I have the leave.  And besides, if they’re gonna screw around with me, I’m gonna screw around with them.”  Mike sounded more playful than angry, and his tone brought a smile to the younger man’s face.</p><p>“So when did you get home?”</p><p>“Late last night.  Too late to call you, actually, or I would’ve.”</p><p>“Did you get anything?”</p><p>“Oh yeah.  That’s why I’m calling.  Listen, ah, I know you can’t drop everything and come over, and I don’t want to tell you over the phone, so listen, ah… if you can, drop by after you finish today.  I’ll make dinner for us and I’ll fill you in.  How does that sound?”</p><p>“Sounds like a great idea.  It all depends, of course -“</p><p>“Oh, I know, your job comes first.  Speaking of which, what’s going on?”</p><p>“Well, a couple of new ones came in.  A Chinese national, a low level diplomat from the consulate, was found shot to death in an alley off Grant, and two old homeless men were beaten to death near Market and Turk.”</p><p>“Which one did you snag?”</p><p>“The Chinese diplomat.”</p><p>Mike chuckled.  “Lucky you.  Watch yourself… you don’t want to spark an international incident…”</p><p>“I’ll be careful.  I’ll even try to remember all those Mandarin phrases you taught me.”</p><p>The chuckle turned into a laugh.  “Just make sure they’re not speaking Cantonese or your attempts a ‘bonding’ could turn a little awkward…”</p><p>Steve joined in the laughter.  “Ye gods, how do I figure that out?”</p><p>“If they look at you as if you just told them the sky was green - that’ll be your first clue, Sherlock.”</p><p>Steve caught a gesture from the corner of his eye and glanced up to see Devitt waving him into the office.  “Ah, listen, I gotta go.  Roy’s waving at me.”</p><p>“Then wave back.”</p><p>“Ha ha, it’s not that kinda wave.  Listen, I’ll call you later this afternoon and let you know if I can make it for supper.”</p><p>“Okay.  Have fun - and stay safe, okay?”</p><p>“Always do.  Bye.”  He hung up, picked up his notebook, and crossed to the inner office.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>Mike’s head snapped up at the loud knock.  Chuckling, he glanced at his watch as he got up and crossed to the front door, smiling apologetically when he opened it on his erstwhile partner standing on the stoop in dark glasses, his jacket slung over a shoulder and a grin on his handsome young face.</p><p>“Let me guess, you lost track of the time?” Steve chuckled as he stepped over the threshold and deeper into the room.</p><p>“Ah, yeah,” Mike laughed softly as the younger man walked past him and he closed the door.  “How’d you know?”  He started towards the kitchen.  “I’m just going to make us spaghetti so it won’t take long.”</p><p>Steve dropped his jacket over the arm of the sofa and took his dark glasses off.  “I’m in no rush.  Are you starving to death?”</p><p>“Ah, no,” Mike responded, stopping at the kitchen entrance and turning back.  “I could wait.”</p><p>“So can I.”  He looked around the messy living room, at the eight bankers boxes, three of them opened, and the stacks of files on almost every surface.  Mike had obviously been using the coffee table as his at-home desk.  “You’ve been busy.”</p><p>Mike made a face as he moved back towards the couch.  “Yeah, but I’m not getting anywhere.  I’ve only gone through three of the boxes, but so far I haven’t found anything that tells me that Charles Goodman was a bad financial advisor and that one of his disgruntled clients would be mad enough to kill him and his family…”  He dropped onto the couch with a heavy and frustrated sigh.</p><p>Steve lowered himself into the armchair.  “So what did you uncover down in L.A.?”</p><p>His partner’s strong features brightened and his eyebrows rose.  “Oh, that was very interesting.”  He stopped himself and pointed towards the kitchen.  “I have a fresh pot of coffee on.  You want some?” he asked, picking up his own empty cup and getting back to his feet.</p><p>“Sure, why not?”  Steve got up and followed the older man into the kitchen.</p><p>Mike got a fresh mug out of the cupboard and poured for them both.  “How’s your investigation going?  Figured out who murdered that Chinese diplomat yet?”</p><p>Steve shook his head as he stirred his coffee.  “Trying to nail down the guy’s last 24 hours but hitting that proverbial diplomatic brick wall, so to speak.  Nobody wants to talk to us.”</p><p>“You mean like a Chinese wall?” Mike asked with a whimsical smile.</p><p>With a smirk and a sigh, Steve sagged against in the counter in feigned frustration.  “Ha ha.  So, what did you get in L.A.?” he continued, taking a sip of his coffee while eyeing his partner waggishly overtop of the cup.</p><p>Laughing, Mike led them back into the living room.  “Well,” he sighed as he dropped back onto the couch, “I found out there was no love lost between O’Donnell and the rank-and-file members of the LAPD.”  He punctuated his statement with a tilt of his head as Steve, frowning slightly, settled into the armchair and leaned back, cradling the cup in both hands.  “Was O’Donnell that bad?”</p><p>Mike shook his head after taking a sip of his own coffee then putting the cup on the table.  “No, not really.  I mean, there were a few cases that they guys I talked to think he got wrong… sort of like the Goodman case… but for the most part, from what I could tell, he was a respected M.E.  It just seems that every once in a while, he would override what the investigators would conclude, like turn a murder into a suicide, or an accidental death into a murder…”</p><p>Steve’s frown deepened.  “Why?  For political reasons?”</p><p>Mike shrugged.  “Nobody knows, and believe me, the guys I talked to looked into it.  Both of them had at least one of their cases compromised by what O’Donnell had concluded.  And they weren’t pleased about it, let me tell you.  Talk about having axes to grind…”  He exhaled loudly with a soft chuckle.”</p><p>“But what about that highfalutin reputation of his?  Was it justified?”</p><p>“Well, I’m still looking into that but so far, I can’t find anything that tells me it’s not.  I’m actually going to the library tomorrow to go through the old microfiche files they have of the L.A. Times and see what the papers say about it.”  He chuckled dryly with a wry smile.  “This could become a full-time job…”</p><p>Steve sat forward.  He knew Mike was sitting on something bigger and he smiled slightly.  “So, ah, what else did you find out?” he asked knowingly and Mike looked at him enigmatically.  They both knew that these times were going to be few and far between for the next couple of months, something they were going to miss more than either of them wanted to admit.</p><p>Clearing his throat, Mike reached for the manila file folder that was sitting on the couch beside him.  He handed it to the younger man with a soft nod.  “Lieutenant Newton gave that to me yesterday morning.  He said the name Northcott rang a bell with him…”</p><p>Frowning at his partner, Steve opened the file and sat back slightly, his eyes quickly scanning the first couple of pages.  They suddenly snapped up and met the expectant blue ones watching his every move.  “Are you kidding me?”</p><p>Mike slowly shook his head.  “I wish I was.”</p><p>“So four years ago O’Donnell was the M.E. who did the autopsy on Jane Goodman’s mother?”</p><p>“Eileen Northcott, yes.  The woman who committed suicide.”</p><p>“Who struggled with depression her entire life and strangled herself with a nylon stocking?”</p><p>“The same.  It turns out Mrs. Northcott, who had been divorced from Mr. Northcott over eight years before she died, had moved to the Los Angeles area three years earlier to be near her sister.  Mental illness ran in the family, it seemed.  Her father had ‘tried’ to commit suicide a number of times before finally succumbing to cancer.”</p><p>“‘Tried’?”  </p><p>Mike shrugged sadly.  “According to Newton, who talked to a colleague who’d done some digging, the father had used pills but not enough to be fatal, he’d hung himself but when there was someone nearby who could find him in time, and even shot himself in the head but managed to do it through his cheek with his mouth open.  I’m gonna talk to Lenny about that but from what Newton’s colleague said, that’s sometimes typical for someone who wants to commit suicide but doesn’t really want to go through with it and changes their mind at the last second.”</p><p>“Dear god…”</p><p>“Yeah…  Anyway, when Mrs. Northcott was found strangled to death, the homicide cops assumed murder, of course, even though there was no sign of a beating or rape.  Gut instinct.  So they were shocked, to put it mildly, when O’Donnell ruled it a suicide.”  He paused.  “Sound familiar?”</p><p>“A little too familiar…”  Steve exhaled loudly, still reading the autopsy report.   “Coincidence?” he asked, knowing the response he was going to get before the word even left his mouth.</p><p>“Yeah, right…” Mike chuckled mirthlessly.</p><p>“So what happens now?”</p><p>The older man inhaled deeply.  “Well, Lieutenant Newton is going to go back over the Mrs. Northcott case - it wasn’t his by the way but he remembered a colleague bitching to him about it, that’s why the name rang a bell.  He’s going to do it on the sly,” Mike shrugged with smirk, “and he’ll let me know what he finds. And I, of course, am gonna keep digging here to find out what I can about the Goodman family.  And we’ll see which way the chips fall…”</p><p>Steve closed the folder, shaking his head slightly as he leaned forward to put it on the coffee table.  “So what do you think?  That O’Connell did this deliberately, with both mother and daughter, or is it, like I said, a coincidence?”</p><p>Mike shook his head.  “I have no idea.  I honestly can’t think of a single thing O’Donnell would get out of turning two murders into suicides, and as far as I know right now, he had no connection to the family whatsoever.  So if it’s just… incompetence… or malpractice…” He shrugged again.  “I just don’t know…”</p><p>Steve smiled slightly.  “But you’re going to find out.”</p><p>Mike mirrored the look.  “I’m gonna try…”</p><p>Steve nodded.  “Well, I’ll do whatever I can do help, you know that.”  He looked at all the files and boxes filling the room.  “Damn, I wish we were working on this together…”</p><p>“So do I, buddy boy, so do I.”</p>
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<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Chapter 14</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Hello?”</p><p>“Mike?  It’s Roger Newton.”</p><p>“Roger, how you doing?”  Mike automatically stuffed the receiver under his ear and reached for the legal-length yellow pad, pulling it closer and picking up a pen.</p><p>“Pretty good.  Yourself?”</p><p>“Up to my neck in files.”</p><p>“Yeah, I bet.  So, I talked to the detective in charge of the Eileen Northcott case.  Carter McNeil, for your records.  He was a lieutenant in Homicide then but he’s nearing retirement age so he put in for a transfer to Missing Persons…”</p><p>“Good for him,” the San Francisco cop chuckled, “ease your way out, right?”</p><p>“I guess,” the younger man growled over the phone.  “But they’re gonna have to drag me out kicking and screaming when the time comes.”  A warm laugh floated over the phone line.  “You too I bet, right?”</p><p>“How’d you guess?”  Mike’s laugh was just as fervent.  “So what did he say?”</p><p>“Well, he told me it was one of the most frustrating cases he ever investigated, and he said he’d go to his grave believing that Mrs. Northcott was murdered.”</p><p>“Did he say why?”</p><p>“Oh yeah, he was pretty adamant about it.  She was found in her bedroom, a nylon stocking tied around her neck and to the knob of the bedroom door.  She was leaning forward, all her weight against the stocking.  You know what that reminds everyone of, right?”</p><p>“Yeah, how someone kills themselves in a prison cell.”</p><p>“Exactly,” Newton confirmed.  “He said that’s what got to him first… it was too reminiscent of a staged scene.  He said he’d seen enough suicides in his career - he was in Homicide for over twenty years - and he said, like we all know, that women mostly use pills… or sometimes poison, but they rarely us a gun or a knife… or hanging…”</p><p>“Yeah… yeah…” Mike mumbled, making notes.  “So there was no sign on her body of a struggle?”</p><p>“McNeil said no, which he thought was strange at the time - and he still does - but he also said that if whoever did it knew what they were doing, there could’ve been bruising that wasn’t initially visible.  Now I talked to our new M.E., who is a great guy, by the way, and gets along with everybody, and I confirmed that it takes sometimes a day or two for fresh bruises to appear on a dead body, and O’Donnell did the autopsy on her right away, and the funeral home picked the body up that same night - and she was in the ground two days later.”</p><p>“It’s been four years…” Mike mused out loud.  “I wonder if bruises are still visible after four years…?”</p><p>“Hmmmh,” Newton sighed, “I have no idea.  Why, are you thinking of an exhumation?”</p><p>Mike chuckled dryly.  “Look, I can’t even get someone up here to let me have a second look at the Goodman murders.  Do you imagine the hue and cry if I lobbied for the exhumation of a four-year-old corpse in Los Angeles?  I wouldn’t just be ‘vacationing’ in Internal Affairs, I’d be busted and out on the street.”</p><p>The L.A. detective’s chuckle wafted over the line.  “I hear ya.”</p><p>“So, anything else McNeil can shed some light on?”</p><p>“Well, he said the place looked neat as a pin, which is why he thought suicide was out of the question.  Almost too neat, he thought, like it had been cleaned up, every set to right, so to speak.  But he didn’t even get the chance to talk to friends or family about Mrs. Northcott’s cleaning habits before the case was closed and out of his hands.”</p><p>“Umh-humh,” Mike mumbled, continuing to make notes.</p><p>“Anyway, McNeil was mighty interested when I told him what you were doing.  He said to give you his number in case you ever wanted to talk to him yourself.  And, ah, I’ve got the file and I’ll fax it up to you asap.  You have access to a fax machine?”</p><p>Mike smiled.  “I don’t but I have a friend that does…”</p><p>Newton chuckled knowingly.  “Ah, someone on the inside, right?”</p><p>“You got it.  Hey, ah, give me McNeil’s number and I’ll give you our fax one.”  They exchanged phone numbers.  “Great.  Ah, give me about ten minutes after we hang up before you send it so I can put the wheels in motion, okay?  I want to make sure the right person gets it, if you know what I mean…”</p><p>“Not a problem.  Oh, ah, I have the crime scene photos that I’ll get copies of and send those up by mail - faxes won’t do them justice so I’ll get them professionally done.  I’ll try to get that done today so you can have them by the end of the week.  Will that do?”</p><p>“That would be great, thanks.”</p><p>“Okay, well, ah, if I come up with anything else, I’ll give you a shout.  If I get the chance, ‘cause all this of course is on the Q.T., I’ll try to re-interview - hell, because they didn’t get interviewed the first time, I’ll contact any friends or family of Eileen Northcott and see if I can dig up anything else for you.  But I don’t have my fingers crossed.  Can I reach you at this number?”</p><p>“Yeah, I, ah, I put in for the next two weeks off, so this is where I’m gonna be.”</p><p>“Great.  Well, good luck, Mike, and keep us informed, okay?  There’ll be a number of people  down here celebrating… quietly and discreetly but celebrating nevertheless… if you can put O’Donnell in his place.”</p><p>“Well, I’ll see what I can do.  I’m gonna give it my best shot.”</p><p>“I know you are.”  There was a brief, knowing pause on the line.  “Keep an eye out for the faxes and photos, okay?  Later, Mike.”</p><p>“Yeah, thanks a lot, Roger.  I appreciate everything you’ve done.”</p><p>“You bet.”  The line went dead.  </p><p>Mike looked at the receiver in his hand then hung it up slowly.  He took a few seconds to rub a hand over his face before picking the receiver up again and dialing a very familiar number. Much to his consternation, it rang three times before it was answered.  “Jeez, where were you?…. Yeah, I know you have a job to do.  I need a favor…  No, it’s not a big one.  In about ten minutes the fax machine is going to spring to life…. Yeah, yeah, it’s the Northcott report from L.A.  One of the detectives is sending it up…. Great, thanks…. Yes, I’ll feed you… Okay, thanks, see you tonight.”</p><p>He hung up with a smile, then glanced at the notes he had made on the yellow pad.  He shifted his weight and slipped the wallet out of his pants pocket.  His mind a million miles away, he opened it and took the small picture of Robbie Goodman out, laying it on the table above the pad.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>The front door opened and, waving a file folder in one hand, Steve let himself into the house.  He stopped short; the living room was empty.  He looked towards the kitchen; the light was on and he could hear someone moving around.  </p><p>He was approaching the kitchen door when Mike exited with a beer bottle in each hand.  “I heard you coming,” he grinned, holding one out and nodding towards the file in the younger man’s hand.  “That it?”</p><p>Nodding, Steve traded the folder for the beer.  “Yes, it is, and thanks.”  He held the beer up in a brief salute.  </p><p>Crossing quickly to the sofa, Mike put his bottle on the coffee table as he sat, opening the file.  “Did you get a chance to read it?”</p><p>“Just a glance,” Steve said as he dropped heavily into the armchair and taking a sip of beer.</p><p>“And?”  Mike asked without looking up, starting to rapidly scan the thermal fax paper.</p><p>“Well, there’s not much there.  It seems they didn’t get too far with their investigation before it was shut down by the M.E.’s office.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Mike mumbled, his eyes still on the file, “that’s what Newton said.”  He got to the last page, dropped them back into place and closed the folder.  “Damn it.  I thought there’d be something I could use but it doesn’t look like it.”  He stared into the middle distance, thinking.</p><p>“You thought there would be?”</p><p>The older man tilted his head with a facial shrug.  “I was hoping.  I’ll, ah, I’ll study it closer later.  Anyway, he’s getting copies of the crime scene photos made and going to mail them up but I won’t get them for a couple of days.”  He was lost in thought for a few seconds; Steve took another sip.  “Oh, ah, I just got home before you got here - so I’ve ordered us a pizza.  That okay?”</p><p>Steve chuckled.  “Works for me.  Did you get to the library?”</p><p>“Oh yeah,” Mike smiled, picking up his beer and taking a long pull.  He blinked exaggeratedly.  “I think my eyes are crossed.  That microfiche is really hard to read, you know.  Anyway, I got a bunch of articles printed out and I’m gonna go back tomorrow to get some more.”  He gestured with his chin towards a large brown envelope on the coffee table.  “O’Donnell was the M.E. down there for a long time.”</p><p>With a warm smile, Steve leaned forward and picked up the envelope, slipping the thick stack of thermal paper out.  He tossed the envelope back on the table.  “Ugh, this stuff always smells so… chemically…” he grumbled, holding the funny-looking ‘paper’ with his fingertips.</p><p>Mike chuckled.  “Yeah, I spent so much time at the printer I think I got a contact high from the smell.”  Steve glanced up, frowning in surprise, and laughed; the image of a stoned Mike was irresistible.  The older man shrugged with a smirk.  “Anyway, I haven’t had a chance to actually read any of them yet,” he gestured at the newspapers articles with his chin, “but I have lots of time for that…”  He watched silently for a few seconds as Steve flipped through some of the pages.  “The photographs don’t come out so well but I’m more interested in the writing anyway.”</p><p>Steve’s eyebrows shot up.  “Oh, jeez, I almost forgot.”  He dropped the thermal papers on the coffee table and grabbed at his jacket, fumbling for the inside pocket, his partner watching him with a curious frown.  His right hand came away with a 5x7” shiny white envelope with a large front flap.  He grinned as he held it out.  “You’ve got more people on your side than you think, my man…” he chuckled as Mike, still frowning, took the envelope almost tentatively.</p><p>He opened it slowly, his eyes widening when he saw the thick stack of colour photos.  He dropped the envelope onto the table and shuffled quickly through the pictures; they all seemed to be of a large crowd, some of whom he recognized, in a cemetery.  He looked up, his face a question.  “Who took these?”</p><p>Steve grinned.  “Colin Baer.  He knew there wouldn’t be any departmental photographers at the funerals, the case being closed and all that, so he did it himself - off the record, so to speak.  He’s almost as outraged about what happened as you are…”</p><p>Mike’s stunned expression slowly morphed into a grateful smile as he worked his way through the more than three dozen photos once again.  “Oh my god, this is great…” he said softly then glanced up.  “Tell him thanks for me, okay?”</p><p>Steve nodded, continuing to grin.  “I already did.”  He picked up the beer bottle and sat back, looking around the room, his eyes settling on the overloaded coffee table.  “Sure looks like you’ve got your work cut out for you for the next few days.”</p><p>Mike looked around and chuckled.  “You think?”  His eyes drifted to the small picture of Robbie Goodman that was still visible amongst the clutter on the table and his smile disappeared.  Steve watched him silently, affectionately.</p><p>There was a loud knock on the door.  Both men looked up.  “Must be the pizza,” Mike said, starting to get to his feet.  </p><p>Steve waved him down, putting his beer bottle on the coffee table as he stood.  “No no, I’ll get it.”  He reached into his pants pocket for his wallet as he crossed to the door.</p><p>“Thanks, buddy boy.  Oh, ah, I always give him a little bigger tip for having to climb up all those stairs!”</p>
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<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Chapter 15</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Mike spent the next day continuing to work his way through the boxes of files, turning up nothing that threw the financial advisor into a bad light.  Charles Goodman had been good at his job, and over the years had managed to not only keep his clients in the black, but able to secure them a solid financial future.  Though he was beginning to lose hope that he would uncover even one disgruntled client, he promised himself he would stick to it till every file was read and eliminated.</p><p>On a break, making himself a quick sandwich for lunch, he flipped through the colour photos from the Goodman family funerals but again he had found nothing untoward.  He made a mental note to give them a more thorough study when he finished with the files.</p><p>He had called Steve midway through the afternoon, just to touch base, but the phone went unanswered.  He was probably out on the streets, trying to solve the murder of the Chinese diplomat, Mike thought melancholically as he hung up.  It was only the third day but he was already beginning to feel completely disconnected from Homicide, and is was a feeling he didn’t like at all.</p><p>The sun was going down before he pulled his head out of a file and looked around the living room, realizing the reason he was suddenly having a hard time reading was because the room was getting dark.  He twisted his left wrist and squinted at his watch, growling to himself as he reached for the table lamp beside him and snapped it on.  8:30.</p><p>“Good lord,” he mumbled with a surprised chuckle, running both hands over his face and his tired eyes.  Rubbing the back of his neck, he got stiffly to his feet and wandered into the kitchen.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>The bullpen was almost empty when Steve opened the door and crossed wearily to his desk.  It had been a long, unproductive day and he had sent Tanner home.  He could have done the same but he wanted to type up the interview reports while they were still fresh in his mind.  </p><p>As he slipped off his jacket, he glanced towards the inner office.  The light was off and the door closed.  Snorting softly to himself, he pulled his chair out and sat, starting to roll up his sleeves.  </p><p>As he took a form out of his desk drawer and fed it into the typewriter, he smiled to himself.  He couldn’t get used to it, he thought; ever since he had started working in this office, his partner had occupied that small glass-walled office.  It had only been three days, but it seemed like so much longer.</p><p>He couldn’t imagine not having Mike around for three months.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>It was very late the next afternoon when Mike closed the last file and, with a relieved sigh, tossed it in the cardboard box.  He glanced at the yellow legal-length pad on the coffee table; he hadn’t made one note.  He chuckled dryly to himself.  Though it felt like a waste of time, he knew it had been an important step in the investigation.  It had proven to him that none of Charles Goodman’s clients had wanted him dead, and so that avenue was now closed.</p><p>He was glad he had found nothing.  The more he looked into Goodman’s life, the more he started to believe their friends and neighbours in their insistence that the murdered family ready did not have any enemies.</p><p>The gun purchase list had also proven to be a bust as well.  There was not one name on that long list that rang any bells with any of the names associated with the extended Goodman family.</p><p>He was beginning to hear that little nagging voice in the back of head, the one he never wanted to hear, the one that kept telling him this case was going nowhere.  It hadn’t happen often in his long career, but it had happened.  Twice, he thought to himself with suppressed anger and frustration, just twice; but that was two times he felt he had failed, and that was a feeling he loathed.</p><p>Over the next day and a half, he had spoken to Steve a couple of times, ostensibly to ask a question regarding the open homicide cases, but in reality just to keep in touch with the partner he had grown so close to in the past four years.  His banishment was grating on his nerves a lot more than he had anticipated and he knew Steve was making every effort to keep him in the loop.</p><p>He had finally packed up the eight boxes of files and stacked them near the door; they were ready to go but he had no idea where he was going to send them,  Goodman’s office was closed; other than a secretary, he’d had no staff to speak of and the company wouldn’t be able to continue without its founder.  Hopefully the company would be acquired by another financial advisor and the files would go there.  </p><p>He’d have to look into that tomorrow, he thought as he wandered into the kitchen and opened the fridge, looking for something to eat.  He straightened up quickly when he heard the front door open and someone step into the living room, dropping something heavily onto the floor with a grunt.</p><p>He slammed the fridge door and stepped to the entranceway, in time to see his daughter closing the heavy front door.  “Jeannie, what are you doing here?”  She spun to him with a broad smile.  “I wasn’t expecting you till next week.”  His broad, delighted grin quickly turned into a frown.  “I thought you had exams, young lady.”</p><p>Dropping her purse to the floor beside her suitcase, she approached him with outstretched arms.  “I wrote the ones I had to and now I’m here.”  She wrapped her arms around him, laying her head against his chest, and squeezed.</p><p>His arms snaked around her and he pulled her closer.  “Are you telling me the truth?”</p><p>She leaned back slightly and looked up at him.  “About the exams?  Absolutely,” she playfully growled, tightening her arms around him.  “Aren’t you happy to see me?”</p><p>He laughed.  “Of course I am, sweetheart.”  He leaned forward and kissed her.</p><p>As she stared into his sparkling eyes, she frowned slightly.  “What are you doing home?  It’s only four o’clock.”  She backed up, pushing him away a step, her eyes running up and down his tall frame.  “Are you all right?  Did you get hurt?”</p><p>He rolled his eyes and bobbled his head, chuckling.  “I’m fine.  Nothing happened.”</p><p>She continued to stare at him, her eyes narrowed.</p><p>He glared back.  “If you don’t believe me, I’ll strip for you if you want.”  He took his hands off her upper arms and reached for the top button of his shirt.</p><p>Her eyes shot wide open.  “No!” she almost shouted then lowered her voice.  “I believe you,” she chuckled, grabbing his hands playfully then raising herself on tiptoe to kiss him again.</p><p>He gestured towards her suitcase with his chin.  “Listen, ah, why don’t you put your stuff away and get changed then I’ll take you out to dinner.  How does that sound?”</p><p>“Ooooo,” she chuckled happily, “do I get to pick the place?”</p><p>“Why not?” he laughed as he turned her around, pushing her gently towards the suitcase and slapping her on the butt.</p><p>“As I heard Steve say once, this is gonna cost you,” she laughed as she picked up the suitcase and started for the stairs.  “Speaking of Steve, can he join us, do you think?”  She stopped suddenly and turned to her father sharply.  “Wait a minute, you didn’t answer my question.”</p><p>“What question?” he asked innocently.</p><p>She put the suitcase down.  “Why are you home so early?  You’re never home this early.”</p><p>He stared at her for a couple of long seconds and she knew he was hiding something.  “How about I tell you all about it over dinner?”</p><p>“Mike..?”</p><p>He smiled warmly.  “It’s nothing bad, honey, it really isn’t.  It’s just a… a disagreement that got a little out of hand, that’s all.”</p><p>Her brow furrowed.  “A disagreement?”  She sounded skeptical.  “You weren’t suspended, were you?”</p><p>“No no no,” he shook his head quickly, raising his hands and taking a step towards her.  “Nothing like that.”</p><p>“So why aren’t you at work?”</p><p>“I’m, ah… I’m taking a couple of weeks off.”</p><p>Her eyes narrowed again.  She knew there was a lot more he needed to tell her and it was obviously going to be like pulling teeth to get the truth out of him.  She glanced over her shoulder at the stack of bankers boxes near the front door that she had noticed when she stepped over the threshold.</p><p>“Does it have anything to do with those?”</p><p>His eyes flicked that direction.  “Yes.”</p><p>She fixed him with a no-nonsense stare.  “What’s going on, Mike?”</p><p> </p><p>He exhaled loudly.  He knew she wasn’t going to move until he at least started to tell her what this was all about.  “I’ve been transferred,” he began quietly.</p><p>“Transferred?  What?  What do you mean ‘transferred’?” she gasped, taking another step towards him.</p><p>He raised his hands again and smiled placatingly.  “It’s only temporary, Jeannie, believe me…”</p><p>“Why?” she demanded.  “What’s going on?”</p><p>He dropped his head momentarily and took a deep breath.  “Look, it’ll take too long to explain it right now.  I’ll tell you over dinner, okay?”  She stared at him but didn’t say a word.  “Sweetheart, it’s not as bad as you might think it is, okay…?  Really.”</p><p>“Daddy…”</p><p>“I’m okay,” he assured her quickly, stepping to her and taking her into his arms.  She put her head against his chest and wrapped her arms around him again.  He rocked her gently.  “Everything’s going to be okay, don’t worry…”  He felt her relax in his embrace.</p><p>Eventually she pulled back and looked up at him.  “You’ll tell me everything?” she asked quietly.</p><p>He smiled at her affectionately.  “I promise.”  He squeezed her tightly and she playfully squealed.  “Now go get changed and we’ll go to dinner.”  He leaned forward and kissed her again.  </p><p>She pulled away from him, picked up her suitcase and started up the stairs.  He watched her go, his smile fading as she disappeared.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>She had chosen The Tadich Grill, her father’s favourite, and over a wonderful meal he told her all about the Goodman case, his clash with O’Donnell and his subsequent temporary transfer.  When he had finished, she was just as angry as he had been.</p><p>“You’re not going to stop, are you?” she asked quietly as she stirred her cup of coffee.</p><p>As he brought his own cup to his lips, he smiled at her enigmatically.  </p><p>“Good,” she said forcefully as she put her spoon on the saucer and picked up the cup.  Before she took a sip, she sagged slightly.  “Internal Affairs?”</p><p>His eyes widened and he chuckled.  “I know…. Tell me about it.  I have to admit, I don’t think my heart will be in it but I’ll do the job for the next two-and-a-half months like the good little soldier I am.”  He took a sip of the strong coffee.</p><p>She put her cup down.  “Steve’s going to miss you.”</p><p>“I’m going to miss him,” Mike said softly, looking at his cup.  He looked up at her and smiled sadly.  “But at least I’ll have you for company.”</p><p>Her smile quickly disappeared.  “Ah, that’s what I want to talk to you about…” she began quietly, looking down.</p><p>He frowned.  “Talk about what?”</p><p>She looked up at him and smiled tentatively.  “Mike, I was offered a short apprenticeship in New York City this summer.  It’s just six weeks… but it’s a great opportunity and I’m really lucky to get it…”</p><p>“New York City?”</p><p>She nodded enthusiastically.  “They’ll pay for everything.  My travel, a place to stay, even my meals…. It’s with one of the best architectural firms in the country…. I leave next week…”</p><p>He stared at her silently.</p><p>“I won’t go if you don’t want me to -“</p><p>“Of course I want you to go,” he interrupted quickly, reaching across the table to take her hand.  He stared into her blue eyes, his own shining with fatherly pride.  “I think that’s just wonderful.  I’m so proud of you.”  He squeezed her hand, grinning.  Then he shrugged with a chuckle.  “You said it’s only six weeks, right?  So that means you’ll be home for August?”</p><p>She smiled.  “The whole month!”</p><p>He laughed, releasing her hand and leaning back.  “That is the best news I had in a long time.”  He leaned forward conspiratorially.  “Tell you what, why don’t you cook one of those pot roasts of yours tomorrow night, we’ll invite Steve for dinner, and I’ll get us a bottle of champagne so we can celebrate.  How does that sound?”</p><p>She squeezed his hand.  “I love you, Daddy.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Chapter 16</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Steve raised the fluted glass.  “Jeannie, that was amazing, as usual.  I thank you both for inviting me to join you tonight.”  His smiling eyes slid from the young woman to her father and back.  “And I want to wish you all the best.   This is extraordinary opportunity you’ve got in New York… and I don’t know anybody who deserves it more.”  He lifted the glass a little higher.  </p><p>Grinning, Jeannie picked up her champagne flute and held it up.  Mike did the same.  “Hear, hear,” he intoned with feigned gravity as he beamed at his daughter, pride so evident in his sparkling eyes.  </p><p>Nodding to both men with a soft chuckle, she clinked glasses with them before they all took a sip.  Mike’s eyes widened.  “Whoa, that is very nice,” he approved with a nod to his partner.</p><p>Steve’s eyes flicked to the bottle of Veuve Clicquot in an ice bucket on the far side of the table.  “Well, when you said it was going to be a celebration, I thought, ‘What the hell…’” he laughed, “it’s only money.”</p><p>Mike looked at his daughter with a bogus frown and leaned towards her conspiratorially.  “I don’t know where he gets all the money,” he whispered in a false sotto voce.  “I think he might be getting paid more than I do.  I mean, where’s my Porsche?”</p><p>Steve began to smirk as Jeannie pretended to frown.  “Hmmmm, well, you are putting me through university… and you do own this house.  He just has an apartment…” she whispered loudly.</p><p>Pursing his lips, still staring at his partner accusingly, Mike nodded.  “True… true…. But I’m gonna have to keep my eye on him, I think…. Don’t you?”</p><p>Mirroring her father’s look, Jeannie nodded as well.  “Oh yeah, I’d keep an eye on him for sure.”</p><p>Steve cleared his throat.  “Are you two finished?”</p><p>Father and daughter straightened up simultaneously with feigned innocence.  “Finished?” Mike echoed facetiously.  “Whatever do you mean?”</p><p>“Whatever…?” Steve repeated, chuckling.</p><p>Pretending to look put upon, Mike turned to his daughter once again.  “You see what I have to put up with?  He makes fun of everything I do…”</p><p>Unable to resist the laugh that had been building at the back of her throat, Jeannie patted her father’s forearm as she stood.  “I think we’d better have dessert before this gets entirely out of hand,” she chuckled as she reached for the empty plates.  </p><p>Mike got to his feet quickly.  “No no no,” he said forcefully as he took the plates out of her hands, “you’ve done enough for tonight.  It’s time for the men to do some work,” he gathered Steve in with a nod.</p><p>The younger man stood rapidly.  “Of course, of course…”  </p><p>Smiling, Jeannie sank back onto her chair.  “Okay,” she acquiesced with a tilt of her head, staring at her father with delight.  With a wink, Mike took the dirty dishes to the counter, Steve in his wake.</p><p>It had turned out to be a perfect day.  Father and daughter had spent the entire day together, a morning walk on Baker Beach was followed by a huge grocery shop, then he helped her prepare their dinner, all the while catching up on each others lives.  They had always had a close relationship, able to talk to each other about just about everything, though Mike had always been circumspect about the grislier details of the job.</p><p>Steve was always amazed at how much his partner relaxed when his daughter was at home, and over the years her visits had become more and more important to them all.  The time had become a respite for both partners, and this time was no exception.</p><p>As he helped Mike with the doling out of the hot, freshly made apple pie topped with generous scoops of vanilla ice cream, he realized that this unexpected but most welcome return was probably the most needed.  The next several weeks were going to be an uncomfortable and trying time for them both, with no guarantee that things would return to normal when Mike’s ‘temporary transfer’ was completed.</p><p>He watched as the older man covered the remaining pie with a piece of tin foil and slid it back in the still warm oven.  As he put the plate of dessert on the table in front of Jeannie and sat, he realized she had been staring at him, frowning slightly.  She looked like she wanted to ask him something, but he saw her eyes flick towards her father and back again then drop to the plate in front of her, picking up her fork.</p><p>Chuckling, Mike returned to the table and sat, putting his own dessert plate down.  “Umh-umh, this smells amazing,” he beamed at his daughter as he cut a piece of pie with his fork and put it in his mouth.  He rolled his eyes in ecstasy.  </p><p>Both younger people laughed, looking at each other and grinning.  As Steve dropped his gaze to his own plate, he glanced at Jeannie and saw her eyes flick towards him.  And he knew she was going to wait to get him alone, however long that took, to tell him what was on her mind.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>They were lingering over freshly brewed coffee when Mike excused himself to make a trip to the bathroom.  The second he left the kitchen, Jeannie’s eyes spun to the young man across the table.</p><p>“What are you not telling him?” she asked accusingly and he sat back sharply, surprised.</p><p>“Wha- what are you talking about?” he managed to blurt out, trying to keep his voice down.</p><p>“Something’s bothering you.  I know you’re trying to keep it from Mike, but I know you, I know you both.”  She continued to stare at him, not backing down.</p><p>He glanced down at the table, one hand around his coffee cup, and exhaled loudly.  “It’s… it’s nothing serious, Jeannie, believe me…. It really isn’t.”</p><p>“Then what is it?” she persisted, her tone softening.</p><p>He looked up and smiled softly, shaking his head slightly with the inevitability.  She was so very much like her father.  “Ever since I joined Homicide four years ago, I’ve worked with your Dad.  I think I know him almost better than he knows himself sometimes,” he snorted warmly, a smile briefly lighting his face, and he heard her soft chuckle.  “You don’t know how important that is… knowing that someone has your back, someone who knows you better than anybody else…And now I don’t have that anymore, for the time being anyway… And he’s gonna go through that too.”  He looked down at the table again.  “And the whole Internal Affairs thing…”  He exhaled loudly.  “Jeannie, the guys from IA, they have an important job to do, there’s no disputing that… but you know as well as I do that they are the most despised members of any police force…”</p><p>He felt Jeannie’s hand wrap around his forearm and squeeze.  “You’re worried about him?” she asked quietly.  </p><p>He nodded gently.  “Yeah…. He’s gonna have to do things I know he’s not gonna want to do…”<br/>He looked up at her and smiled mirthlessly with a small, helpless shrug.</p><p>“But he’s going to be coming at all this from the perspective of a cop who’s spent his entire career on the streets… won’t that make him a more compassionate Internal Affairs investigator?” she asked with a gentle smile.</p><p>He stared at her for several long silent seconds, frowning.  They heard the sound of Mike coming back down the stairs and he smiled at her, awed and grateful for the surprisingly encouraging perspective.  She squeezed his arm once more before removing her hand and picking up her coffee cup.  </p><p>“So what did you talk about you didn’t want me to hear while I was gone?” Mike asked with a laugh as he strode back into the room and dropped into his chair.  Both younger people stared at him under raised eyebrows.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>The week had gone by much too fast and it was with great reluctance that Mike drove his daughter to the airport to see her off on her Big Apple adventure.  It had been a wonderful break for them both, and neither wanted to see it end.  </p><p>They were both facing the next six weeks with different points of view, Jeannie with excitement, Mike with dread.  He had managed to delay his secondment to IA as long as he could but his two-week respite was rapidly coming to an end. </p><p>He managed to conceal his trepidation as he saw her off, waiting in the airport terminal for her plane to disappear from sight.  He drove back home slowly.  </p><p>The Goodman investigation had ground to a halt; he had managed to find a few hours here and there over the past week to continue to work on the case but to no avail.  Every possibility had been examined and nothing had yielded a lead that could be followed.  It had become an exercise in frustration and he knew his time was running out.  The colder the case became the less likely it would ever be solved.</p><p>Steve had managed to solve the case of the murdered Chinese diplomat; he had been shot by a hooker he had stiffed.  And Steve and Tanner had, with the help of some initially reluctant but eventually compliant street-walkers who knew they would be harassed until they cooperated, tracked down the distraught young woman, who surrendered without resistance.</p><p>It had been a satisfying arrest for both inspectors, and even though Steve liked working with Tanner, it was not the same as working with Mike.</p><p>It was early on Monday morning when Mike reported to Captain George Cassidy in Internal Affairs.  They were old friends, and Cassidy knew just how difficult this temporary transfer was going to be for the veteran homicide detective.</p><p>Mike spent his first day just going over some IA files and getting a taste of some of the cases that needed to be investigated.  Cassidy had decided not to give Mike any of the most controversial ones; he would let him handle the somewhat straightforward cases, like complaints from the public about police brutality or conduct unbecoming.</p><p>Mike was at home, boiling spaghetti for dinner, when the phone rang.  It was Steve.  </p><p>“So, how was your first day?”</p><p>The older man chuckled as he slumped into a kitchen chair.  “Better than I thought it would be.”</p><p>“Oh yeah?”</p><p>“Yeah.  Well, George took pity on me.  He’s, ah, he’s decided to give me the ‘easier’ cases while I’m on his roster.”</p><p>“‘Easier’?  What does that mean?”</p><p>“Oh, you know, things like ‘that cop cursed at me’ or ‘that cop ignored me when I complained about my neighbour’.  That kinda thing.”</p><p>“Seriously?”</p><p>“Well, I sorta think that’s really not the kinda thing they usually investigate.  I have a sneaking suspicion that George has just made my job up out of thin air, to keep me out of the really controversial stuff, you know.  But hey, if I can smooth over some ruffled feathers with the public, and not get painted with that IA brush, I’ll be more than grateful, believe me.  Besides, he’s letting me work on my own and set my own hours, so that’s another plus too.”  He chuckled dryly.  “I actually think I might be able to survive the next ten weeks with my reputation intact.”</p><p>“That would be nice,” Steve chuckled over the line.</p><p>“Yeah.  So, ah, so what’s new with you?”</p><p>“Well, we picked up a new one today.  I’m working with Roy on this one.”</p><p>“Oh, yeah, what is it?”</p><p>Steve could hear the excitement in his former partner’s voice.  “A young guy, a lawyer, beaten to death in an alley off California.  It’s still early and so far we have no leads.  We’re still at it.  It’s gonna be a tough one, Mike…”  His voice trailed off.</p><p>A brief silence floated over the line.  “Yeah, well, ah, good luck.  Let me know how you’re doing with it, okay?  And, ah, be careful, you hear?”</p><p>“Oh, I will, don’t worry.  You too, hunh?”</p><p>Mike chuckled.  “Yeah, right.  I need a lot of back-up from all those little old lead-footed ladies complaining about that mean cop that gave them a speeding ticket or ignored their complaints about their loud neighbors.”</p><p>“Hey, you never know,” Steve laughed.  “Okay, gotta go, Roy’s waving at me again.  I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”</p><p>“You bet.”  Mike hung up the receiver, staring at the phone for several long seconds before, with a heavy sigh, turning his attention back to the stove.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Chapter 17</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Okay, Miss Peterson, just take your time and let us know if any of these look familiar.”  Steve smiled encouragingly.</p><p>The heavyset young brunette with the cats-eye glasses watched nervously as the detective left the room, turning her attention to the book of colour photographs and magazine clippings on the desk in front of her.</p><p>His eyebrows raised, Steve crossed the bullpen to where Devitt was standing near the coffee station, filling a mug.  “Well, let’s just hope she recognizes something.  It’s not much but it’s a start.”</p><p>Cathy Peterson had been returning home very early in the morning after her overnight shift at a nearby hotel when she’d spotted a yellow sports car backing out of the alley between two buildings on California near Gough, and where John Allen Pressman’s lifeless body had been found a few hours later.  The up-and-coming young lawyer had been beaten to death somewhere else, his body dumped in the alley sometime the night before.</p><p>Desperate for anything that would help them in their investigation, which was so far going nowhere, Steve and Devitt had spent the previous night stopping everyone that was walking past the alley and asking if they had seen someone or something unusual on the night in question.  It was a dubious gamble but one that had, pleasantly and unexpectedly, paid off when Miss Peterson told them she had indeed seen a car leaving that alley on the night in question.  But other than the fact that it was yellow and fancy, the young woman had no idea what kind of car it was.  </p><p>After making her promise she would show up at 850 Bryant the next morning to look at pictures in the hopes it would jog her memory, Devitt had called it a night.  True to her word, she had arrived at 8 a.m., eager to help she’d said.  Devitt was more than just a little convinced she was a little more eager to spend some time with the handsome young inspector.</p><p>Less than five minutes later, she was waving frantically.  Both detectives entered the interview room.  She pointed proudly at a picture in the book.  “That’s it.  That’s the car and the colour.  I’d swear to it,” she beamed, not taking her eyes off Steve.</p><p>He looked at the book then up at Devitt.  “Camaro - Daytona Gold.”</p><p>“Does it help?”</p><p>Steve smiled at her, piling on the charm.  “It sure does.  Thank you very much.”  He picked up the book and crossed to the door.  “Captain Devitt will show you out,” he said smoothly, shooting a mischievous glance in the captain’s direction as he returned to his desk.</p><p>Wearing a bemused smile, Devitt saw the young woman to the door before stopping at Steve’s desk.  The younger man, on the phone, glanced up with a silent chuckle as Devitt, shaking his head in feigned irritation, sank into the guest chair.  Steve hung up.</p><p>“I just asked for a list of all the ‘Daytona Yellow’ Camaro’s in The City.  They said it shouldn’t take long.”</p><p>“Good.  Wouldn’t it be nice if we could arrest someone today?” the captain chuckled.</p><p>Steve laughed.  “When was the last time you actually arrested somebody?”</p><p>Devitt frowned comically.  “Good question…”  Laughing, he got up and started towards the inner office, turning back briefly at the door.  “I better blow the dust off my handcuffs.”</p><p># # # # #</p><p>Mike looked up to see his new captain standing over his desk.  </p><p>“How are you settling in?” Cassidy asked pleasantly as dropped into a nearby chair.</p><p>Mike bobbled his head.  “Okay, I guess.  Going out on my first call in a little while.”</p><p>“Oh yeah?  Which one is that?”</p><p>“Mrs. Ramsey?  She’s the one that said that Officer Patrick Dempsey deliberately ran her cat over with his motorcycle.  She’s been putting flyers up all over her neighborhood calling him a murderer.”  He raised his eyebrows and tilted his head.  “She says he’s done it more than once, to other peoples cats, and that she has proof.”</p><p>“Wow,” Cassidy said straight-faced, “you got a real important one there, don’t you?”  His lips were twitching.</p><p>Mike swallowed a grin.  “Yeah, ten weeks of this is going to be really… eye-opening…”</p><p>Beginning to chuckle, Cassidy got to his feet.  “Well, consider it a vacation.”  He started to move away then turned back.  “I’m sure something more interesting will turn up.  Hang in there.”  With a wink, he continued on to his office.</p><p>Mike looked down and smiled to himself.  He wondered what was going on in Homicide.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>“I’ve got the address,” Steve said, stepping to the inner office door as he started to roll his sleeves down.  </p><p>Devitt’s head snapped up, frowning.</p><p>“The list of Camaro owners.  There’s one that’s very interesting.  Richard Alan Palmieri, over in Noe Valley.  He’s got a record.  Petty stuff, but still…”. </p><p>Devitt had gotten to his feet and was slipping into his suitcoat.  “What kinda stuff?”</p><p>Steve looked at the report on his desk as he picked his jacket off the back of his chair and shrugged it on.  “A couple of D’n’D’s, one misdemeanor assault, a DWI, two petty thefts…”</p><p>“Doesn’t sound like the resume of a murderer, does it?” Devitt asked rhetorically as they headed to the bullpen door.</p><p>“No, but maybe he’s ambitious,” Steve retorted as they stepped out into the busy corridor.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>Steve and Devitt got out of the tan LTD, both of them staring at the three-storey building in front of them.  They had already clocked the bright yellow Camaro parked down the block.  Reflexively, and unobtrusively, both detectives unsnapped their holsters.  Devitt nodded towards the narrow driveway that ran down the right side of the building.  </p><p>Returning the nod, Steve started up the driveway.  He knew the apartment they were looking for was on the second floor; they wanted to take no chances.</p><p>Devitt took the porch stairs two at a time.  The glass-paned front door was locked.  “Damn it,” he muttered under his breath.  He looked at the name plate; there was no name alongside the buzzer for 2B.  He pressed the one for 1A.  After a long pause, there was a low buzz and he grabbed the door and opened it.</p><p>A middle-aged balding man, his paunch barely covered by a white t-shirt, glared at him from the open door of 1A.  Devitt took his badge out and held it up, putting his other index finger to his lips as he crossed the short foyer to the staircase and started up.  He stopped in front of 2B and knocked.  </p><p>“Yeah,” came the deep voice from inside.</p><p>“Mr. Palmieri, this is Captain Devitt, San Francisco Police.  I’d like to ask you a few questions, sir.”</p><p>There was a brief silence then, “Just a minute!”  </p><p>Devitt heard a short, sharp series of thuds, like someone was running.  Rearing back, he lifted his right leg and slammed it against the door.  It held.  He tried again.</p><p>Out in the alley behind the apartment building, Steve heard a window above his head open and he looked up to see a pair of legs appear through the window, pinwheeling, scrambling for some kind of purchase against the building wall as Palmieri scrambled out.  Waiting till the tall, muscle-bound young man dropped heavily to the ground, Steve stepped forward, his .38 pointed at Palmieri’s head.  “Don’t move,” he growled and Palmieri froze.  “Get on your knees and put your hands on your head.”</p><p>With a frustrated grunt, Palmieri sunk to his knees, raising his hands towards his head.  Steve reached behind himself to pull his cuffs off his belt.  Above him, he could hear the sound of wood splintering, and he knew that Devitt had finally broken into the apartment.</p><p>Keeping the .38 trained on the back of Palmieri’s head, he reached to snag the suspect’s right forearm to slap the cuff on when Palmieri suddenly reared backwards, shooting to his feet with unexpected speed and agility, his right elbow snapping back to knock Steve’s right hand away.  He continued to spin, his right leg coming up in a martial arts move, his body leaving the ground as his right foot connected solidly with Steve’s left forearm, the .38 flying from the detective’s hand.</p><p>Then, in an almost continuous blur of motion, Palmieri’s left hand, balled into a fist, continued the spiral move, connecting solidly with the right side of Steve’s jaw; his head snapped back.  Stunned, blood suddenly pouring from his mouth, the detective staggered.  </p><p>Gaining his balance, Palmieri’s right fist shot out, driving into the cop’s ribs.  Steve stumbled back, gasping for breath, moaning in pain as he dropped slowly to his knees, wrapping his arms around his body.</p><p>“Steve!”  The distraught voice came from above and Palmieri glanced up briefly to see a grey-haired older man leaning out his apartment window.  The panicked face disappeared.</p><p>With one last glance at the gasping, semi-conscious detective lying in the dirt, Palmieri turned and sprinted down the driveway towards the street.</p><p>The only sound in the back alley was the short, sharp, pain-filled breaths of the fallen detective.  Suddenly the increasingly loud pounding of running feet could be heard as Devitt rounded the corner and slid to a stop, dropping to his knees beside his fallen colleague.  “There’s an ambulance on the way… Oh god, Steve…”  His own chest heaving, he stared at the bloodied and obviously badly injured young man lying before him, not sure what, if anything, he could do.  “You’re gonna be okay, you’re gonna be okay…” he repeated over and over, laying a comforting hand on the young man’s arm as Steve struggled to take a breath.  </p><p>And all Devitt could think was, ‘Oh my god, Mike is gonna kill me…’.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>Mike got out of the dark blue Galaxie and looked up at the four-storey beige stucco apartment building that had definitely seen better days.  He took the piece of paper out of his pocket and squinted at it again, not bothering to put his glasses on:  4D.  Of course it was the fourth floor, he thought with frustration as he stuffed the piece of paper back in his pocket and approached the wrought-iron gate with the peeling beige paint.  It opened easily, with a squeak, obviously not locked.  He hoped as much for the front door; it would make his life easier.</p><p>He leaned forward slightly to read the list of surnames on the nameplate but none of them were legible even if he did have his glasses on.  With a snort, he reached for the front door knob and turned, waiting for it to be locked, and again was pleasantly surprised when it turned in his hand.</p><p>“It’s my lucky day,” he mumbled under his breath as he stepped into the dimly lit lobby and started up the stairs.  He was only slightly winded when he got to the top floor, wondering how the old woman he was about to disturb ever managed to make it up and down those steps on a daily basis.  Maybe she had live-in assistance, he thought as he started down the dark hallway.  There was only one overhead light, and it was a dingy, fly-specked yellow.  </p><p>There were six doors on the long narrow hallway; 4D was at the end on the left.  It was quiet, he thought, his footsteps muffled by the soiled carpeting.  The entire building was unusually quiet for a late weekday afternoon.  He stopped in front of 4D and knocked.  He froze briefly, listening; when there was no response he knocked again, louder.  He thought he heard a soft thud from inside.  “San Francisco Police, please open up, Mrs. -!“</p><p>There was a short, sharp thwack as a small part of the door splintered and Mike was thrown back against the opposite wall, his head slamming into the hard plaster.  His left shoulder exploded in pain as his arm went numb.  Black spots swam before his eyes as his legs gave out and he dropped heavily.  He tried desperately to cling to consciousness as he slowly slumped to the floor, his left cheek coming to rest against the dirty carpet, his unseeing eyes slowly closing.</p>
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<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Chapter 18</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Devitt was sitting in the St. Mary’s Hospital waiting area, his head in his hands, when Captain Rudy Olsen, trailed closely by Sergeants Dan Healey and Norm Haseejian, almost flew through the double doors and crossed the crowded room towards him.</p><p>“What the hell happened?” Olsen’s gravelly voice cut through the babble of the worried friends and relatives of other patients as he jerked to a stop near his obviously distraught colleague.</p><p>Devitt’s head snapped up and his eyes widened seeing the three worried detectives looming over him.  Regaining his composure, he shook his head quickly with a brief shrug.  “I’m not sure, it all happened so fast…”</p><p>“How is he?” Haseejian asked, his features furrowed in concern as he dropped into the empty chair beside the frazzled captain.</p><p>Devitt looked at him, his brow furrowed, and shrugged again.  “I don’t know, Norm.  Nobody’s come out to talk to me yet…”  He swallowed heavily.  “Ah… but I’m pretty sure he has broken ribs and possibly a broken jaw…” he almost whispered, looking up at Olsen and Healey.</p><p>“Damn it,” Healey mumbled, his hands on his hips, walking in a small circle, his anger palpable.</p><p>Olsen glanced over his shoulder at the dark-haired Homicide detective, then looked around.  There was an empty chair nearby and he pulled it closer, sitting so he was facing Devitt, who had once again dropped his head into his hands.  Olsen touched his arm; Devitt looked up.  “Tell me what happened.”</p><p>The grey-haired detective took a deep breath.  “We were following up on a lead in that lawyer case we caught.  A witness had seen a yellow Camaro leaving the alley on California where the body was found and we ran a list of Camaro owners and one of them had a record.  But it was petty stuff, no assaults, nothing like that…”  He paused and exhaled loudly.  “A two-storey apartment building on 27th in Noe Valley.  Anyway, I went in and Steve covered the alley out back.  We were just going to talk to the guy, hopefully eliminate him…”  He shrugged helplessly again.</p><p>“Anyway, I knocked on the door and announced myself and the next thing I know I hear footsteps running towards the back of the apartment and I know he’s going out the window.  It took me three tries to kick the door in and when I finally got to the back window and looked out, Steve was already on the ground…”  He closed his eyes and exhaled again.  Haseejian patted him on the back.</p><p>“By the time I got down to him, he was in bad shape.  He couldn’t breathe and his jaw was swollen…. I’m not even sure he knew I was there…”. He closed his eyes and took a deep, steadying breath.  “Some lady came out of her apartment… the noise, I guess, and I yelled at her as I ran past to call an ambulance…. Thank god she did…”</p><p>Olsen put a comforting hand on his forearm and squeezed.  “Did you get a chance to call Mike?”</p><p>Devitt looked up at him and gently shook his head.  “I, ah, I wanted to find out Steve’s condition first before I told Mike…”  The others nodded.  “And I don’t know the number for IA off the top of my head…”  He shrugged with a soft snort.</p><p>“I do,” Healey said and they all looked up at him.  He raised his eyebrows above a smirk.  “I’ll, ah, I’ll give him a call.”  He turned and walked towards the bank of payphones.</p><p>Devitt looked at Olsen, frowning.  “God, Rudy, if we knew the guy was gonna be one big sonuvabitch with a temper, we’da brought back-up… I swear…”</p><p>“I know,” Olsen nodded gently, “I know…. It’s a risk we all know is there…”</p><p>“Is there a Captain Devitt here?”  A loud voice cut through the din around them and they all turned to look at a tall, sandy-haired middle-aged doctor in scrubs standing near the entrance to the Emergency corridor.  </p><p>All three got quickly to their feet and approached him.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>The black phone on the empty desk began to ring.  Captain Cassidy, alone in his office but on his own phone, lookd through the the glass wall into the bullpen.  Continuing his conversation, he glanced at his watch.  </p><p>He let the other phone ring.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>Healey, listening to the unanswered ringing of the IA phone, watched as his colleagues approached the doctor.  He was torn; he wanted to wait till Mike answered but he also needed to know how Steve was.</p><p>After the tenth ring, realizing that Mike wasn’t going to answer and was probably at home by now, he hung up.  He didn’t have Mike’s home number memorized, he thought with a mirthless chuckle, and would need to get it from one of his colleagues.</p><p>He crossed the room to join the others just as the doctor walked away.  “What did he say?”</p><p>They all turned to him, Devitt guiltily.  He opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out.  Haseejian, who clocked the captain’s lack of response, took a step towards his partner.</p><p>“He’s gonna be okay but he’s gonna be here for awhile.  He has a broken jaw, like Roy thought… and he has two broken ribs and a collapsed lung.  They’ve put a tube in his chest…”</p><p>Healey exhaled loudly.  “Can we see him?”</p><p>Olsen shook his head.  “Not tonight.  He’s heavily sedated.  Nobody’s going to be able to see him till tomorrow morning.”  He glanced at Devitt, who was staring at the floor.  “Did you get ahold of Mike?”</p><p>“Ah, no,” Healey shook his head.  “He’s not in the office and I don’t know his home phone number.  Any of you guys know it?”  </p><p>All three shook their heads.  “Listen, ah,” Olsen said grimly, “I’ll, ah, I’ll drop by his house… It might be better if I tell him in person.  And, ah, and hopefully I can stop him from coming here and sitting in the waiting room all night, especially if no-one’s allowed to see him till the morning…”</p><p>Haseejian nodded.  “Yeah, that might be the best plan….”  </p><p>All three turned to Devitt, who still looked miserable.  Olsen threw his arm around the taller man’s shoulders.  “Come on, Roy, you’ve done all you could here.  Let’s go back to the Hall and you can write up the report and someone can get an APB out on that guy and his car.”  He didn’t want the captain going home and wallowing in his guilt.  “We’ll come back first thing tomorrow morning with Mike and see him then, okay?”</p><p>Still looking at the floor, Devitt nodded softly then allowed himself to be led out of the waiting room.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>Olsen glanced up at the familiar old house as he got out of the car, surprised to see it completely dark.  He frowned.  It was too early for Mike to have gone to bed, he thought as he crossed the street and started up the steep concrete steps.</p><p>Puffing heavily when he finally got to the stoop, he pressed the doorbell and knocked loudly.  If Mike was indeed asleep in his second floor bedroom, it would take a fair racket to wake him up, even though, like most cops, he was a fairly light sleeper at the best of times.</p><p>When there was no sign of life in the house after at least two minutes of doorbell pushing and loud knocking, Olsen gave up and returned to his car.  He was still looking worriedly at the darkened house when he drove away.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>It was the intense, breathtaking pain in his left shoulder that brought him to consciousness.  It was overwhelming, and he could hear his own gasps as he tried to drag air into his lungs.  His head was pounding and he was too weak to open his eyes.</p><p>He knew he was lying on his back, in a bed he thought, and he was covered.  Slowly, without moving, he tried to take stock of his body.  His throbbing left shoulder was heavily bandaged, his left arm immobile across his chest.  His head was turned to the left; there was something across his forehead, and when the back of his head touched the pillow as he turned towards the ceiling, he cried out from the pain.  His right hand balled into a fist and he could feel the needle in the back of his hand.</p><p>It took a couple of very long minutes until he could get the pain somewhat under control.  He managed to open his eyes a slit.  The room was very dark and still.</p><p>The pain in his shoulder rose in a wave again and he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to not cry out again.  He heard a door open and suddenly a strong female voice filled the room.</p><p>“Oh good, you’re awake.”  The new presence crossed to the left side of the bed and he felt a warm hand gently caressing his face.  “How are you feeling, Lieutenant Stone?”</p><p>He tried to open his eyes again but there was a bright light in his face and he squeezed them shut.  “What happened…?” he managed to mumble.</p><p>“You were shot,” she answered almost brightly, “but you’re gonna be just fine.  We’re gonna take good care of you, don’t you worry.”</p><p>Another wave of pain washed over him and he gritted his teeth, trying not to whimper.</p><p>“Would you like some more medication for the pain?” She asked kindly and he nodded carefully, trying not to let the back of his head connect with the pillow.  “Then let’s do that,” she said brightly.</p><p>Her hand disappeared from his face and she circled the bed to the other side.  He could hear what he assumed was a syringe being filled, the sound of a small glass bottle being returned to a metal tray, then the blanket was lifted off his right arm.  The sharp smell of rubbing alcohol suddenly filled the air.  He felt a wet cotton swab against his skin then the sharp sting of a needle in his bicep.</p><p>“There you go,” she said with a smile in her voice as he heard the syringe dropped into the metal tray and she covered his arm with the blanket again.  “You should start feeling the effects soon.”  He heard her walking towards the door.  “You have a good sleep now,” she said warmly before closing the door.</p><p>The room was quiet again.  He lay very still, trying to clear his mind, waiting for the medication to kick in.  Suddenly he caught his breath and his heart began to pound.  Something wasn’t right, he realized, trying to force himself to think straight… trying to figure out the clues that were right in front of him…</p><p>He held his breath, his thoughts starting to slowly coalesce.  He’d been in the hospital before… he’d been given pain medication before.  It had always been administered in the IV drip through a needle in the back of his hand or forearm… There was a needle in the back of his hand right now…. So why this time was it a shot in his arm? he wondered.  It didn’t make any sense…</p><p>He exhaled slowly, still waiting for the painkiller to take effect, to dull the almost overwhelming agony in his left shoulder.  But it wasn’t going away…</p><p>His breaths became ragged and he squeezed his eyes shut, his heart thudding in his chest and his right hand once more balled into a fist.  He didn’t know where he was or what was going on.  But he knew he was in big trouble…</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. Chapter 19</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Devitt was standing on the sidewalk outside the front doors of St. Mary’s Hospital waiting for Olsen, who had just arrived, to join him.  It was just before 8 a.m.</p><p>Olsen let a couple of cars pass before he strode briskly across Stanyan Street, frowning in concern as he approached his colleague.  Devitt looked terrible, like he hadn’t slept a wink; Olsen was pretty sure that was the case.</p><p>The interim head of Homicide nodded his salutation as the older man joined him.  “I thought you were bringing Mike with you?” he asked, surprised.</p><p>Olsen’s frown got even deeper.  “I haven’t been able to get in touch with him,” he answered as they walked into the hospital’s large main lobby, approaching the information desk.  “He wasn’t at home when I got to his place last night.  I called when I got home and left a message but I still haven’t heard from him.”  </p><p>They had reached the desk, both of them holding out their credentials.  Olsen asked for Steve’s room number; it was on the fourth floor.</p><p>They crossed the lobby towards the bank of elevators, putting their badges away.  “Where is he?” Devitt asked as he punched the UP button.</p><p>With a frustrated exhale, Olsen shook his head.  “I have no idea.  I called George Cassidy this morning but he wasn’t in yet.  I left him a message too.”</p><p>They stepped into the empty car and, as the door closed, Devitt shook his head slowly.  “I don’t like the sound of that…”</p><p># # # # #</p><p>The receiver to his ear, Cassidy listened to Olsen’s message with growing concern.  His brow deeply furrowed, he hung up.  “Chris!”</p><p>A young detective at the far end of the bullpen shot to his feet, crossing towards the inner office at a jog.  “Yeah?”</p><p>“Do you know what car Mike Stone was using?”</p><p>The IA cop shrugged, shaking his head.  “I have no idea.  Why?”</p><p>“Do me a favor, will ya?  Get ahold of the garage and find out what car they gave him and then put an APB out on it, okay?”</p><p>The young man’s eyes widened.  “Yeah, ah, sure, right away…”  He hurried back across the room.</p><p>Cassidy got up and walked to Mike’s desk, sitting in the chair and starting to rifle through the several thin file folders piled neatly on one corner.  He knew what the veteran detective had said he was going to do but Mike hadn’t said where.  Maybe he could find something that would tell him.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>A white-coated doctor met the two police captains outside the closed hospital room door.  </p><p>“I’m afraid Inspector Keller’s not up for visitors just yet,” Doctor Cohen said with an almost regretful smile.  “He’s still sedated because of the chest tube.”  When both cops looked even more concerned, he smiled encouragingly.  “He’s responding well and his collapsed lung is re-inflating at a normal pace, so there’s nothing to be worried about.  This is the best we can hope for right now.”</p><p>“He’s doing okay?” Devitt asked, needing more reassurance, it seemed.</p><p>Cohen smiled.  “Considering his injuries, including the broken jaw, he’s doing very well.  But it’s going to be a slow process.  And there’s nothing we can do to speed it up, believe me.”</p><p>Glancing at Devitt, Olsen asked, “So, ah, so when do you think he’ll be awake and we can see him?”</p><p>“Well, I wouldn’t think it would be before later today… much later, I would say.  More likely around dinnertime tonight.  If his lung continues to inflate as we hope, the tube could be removed sometime this afternoon, and then we can allow him to wake up.  But all that takes time and we’re not going to rush it.”</p><p>Both detectives were nodding.  “No no, we understand,” Devitt said softly, looking away and taking a deep breath.  </p><p>Olsen and Cohen exchanged a concerned look, then the older cop nodded, glancing at his colleague; Cohen smiled in understanding.</p><p>“Ah, listen, while you’re here,” Cohen said brightly, “why don’t you go in and see him for a couple of minutes?”</p><p>Devitt brightened.  “We can?”</p><p>“Of course.”  The doctor took a step towards the door and opened it for them.  </p><p>They entered the small room slowly and quietly.  Steve was lying flat, a flannelette blanket pulled up to his waist.  He was attached to a heart monitor and the chest tube protruded from his lower left ribs.  The left side of chest was covered with an angry deep purple bruise.  </p><p>They stepped closer to the bed.  Olsen winced and Devitt closed his eyes, exhaling unsteadily.  There was another large bruise on the right side of the young cop’s face, which was swollen, his chin jutting forward unnaturally; they knew his teeth were wired together to set the broken jaw.</p><p>Shaking slightly, Devitt reached out and laid a hand softly on Steve’s forehead, brushing the disheveled hair back.  </p><p>With a heavy heart, Olsen watched his colleague, knowing the guilt and worry Devitt was shouldering.  After a few long seconds, he put his hand on his colleague’s arm.  “Come on,” he said gently, “let’s go find Mike, okay?”</p><p>Nodding reluctantly, Devitt removed his hand from Steve’s forehead and slowly followed Olsen to the door.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>The pain brought him to consciousness again.  It hadn’t stopped and he knew he had fallen asleep out of pure exhaustion.  He tried not to move, keeping his eyes closed and attempting, without much success, to keep his breaths shallow.  </p><p>Suddenly everything that had flashed though his mind a few hours before, all the frightening possibilities that his pain-filled, slightly disoriented brain had begun to envisage, came flooding back.  He opened his eyes.</p><p>He wasn’t in a hospital room.  </p><p>It was a normal room… a bedroom  he realized… in someones house.  There were curtains on the closed window to his right, and pictures on the walls.  He could see a dresser with a mirror beside the door on the far side of the room, and a tall, cluttered bookcase on his left.  </p><p>Under the heavy blanket that was pulled up almost to his chin, he raised his right forearm.  The needle in the back of his hand stung but he ignored the pain.  As he tried to grab the blanket to pull it off, he became aware of a metal weight, like a heavy bracelet, around his right wrist.  He pulled his arm free of the blanket and froze.  It was a handcuff.</p><p>There was a thin blue-and-white nylon rope tied firmly to the empty cuff dangling from the short chain on the other end.  He twisted carefully, trying to ignore the agony emanating from his left shoulder, following the nylon rope with his eyes.  It was tied securely to the head of the bed, leaving him only enough slack to allow his hand to lie at his side or raise to his face.</p><p>Stunned, he tried to look down at himself.  He was still wearing his own clothes, the left side of his unbuttoned dress shirt now deep red with dried blood.  His once white undershirt, equally soaked with blood, had been cut in half lengthwise and pulled back to expose his heavily bandaged shoulder.</p><p>He dropped his head carefully back onto the pillow, squeezing his eyes shut, gasping with the pain the effort had cost him.  His mind reeled, trying to come to grips with the sudden undeniable reality of his situation.  He froze momentarily then tried to move his legs; he couldn’t.  He opened his eyes and, gritting his teeth against the pain once again, raised his head enough to see the footboard.  There was nylon rope lashed around both ends, disappearing under the blanket, and he knew without looking that the other ends were tied around his ankles.</p><p>With a strangled, disheartened whimper, he lowered his head, wincing when the laceration on the back of his head made contact the pillow.  He stared, unseeing, at the ceiling, trying to slow his pounding heart.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>“George.  Anything yet?”  Olsen was on the phone in Mike’s office, Devitt standing at the far side of the desk, staring at him intently.  Healey and Haseejian drifted towards the inner office.</p><p>“Did you see Steve this morning?” Healey asked quietly, glancing at Olsen.</p><p>Devitt nodded distractedly, trying to keep his focus on the other captain.  “Ah, yeah, but he was still out.  We might be able to talk to him sometime tonight.”</p><p>“How’s he doing?” Haseejian asked, equally quietly.</p><p>Devitt shrugged helplessly.  “They say he’s doing okay, all things considered.”</p><p>Healey gestured towards Olsen with his chin.  “What’s going on?”</p><p>Devitt tore his eyes away from the man behind the desk.  “We can’t find Mike.”</p><p>“What?” Healey and Haseejian exclaimed together.</p><p>Olsen hung up and stood, his gaze taking in all three very worried faces before him.  “Mike was driving a dark blue Galaxie.  George put out an APB on it but it hasn’t been spotted yet.  And he’s also trying to find out what address Mike was going to last night.”  He sounded angry and frustrated.</p><p>“What the hell’s going on?” Healey almost demanded.</p><p>Olsen looked at him and sighed heavily.  “Nobody’s seen Mike since late yesterday afternoon.  George said he was going out to interview some woman about a complaint and then he was going to call it a day but nobody’s seen him since he left IA.  I went by his house last night and left a message on his answering machine, but there’s been nothing.  I haven’t even been able to tell him about Steve.”</p><p>“What can we do?” Haseejian asked.</p><p>Olsen shook his head.  “Until we find that car, I’m not really sure we can -“  The phone on the desk rang and he snapped it up.  “Olsen,” he barked then listened, his brow furrowing.  “Okay… Okay, yeah, we’re on our way.”  He slammed the receiver down then looked up.  “They found the car.  It’s at Pier 64.”</p><p>“64?” Healey echoed, surprised.  “What the hell would he doing all the way over at Pier 64?”</p><p>Olsen shrugged as he circled the desk and started for the door.  “Who the hell knows but that’s where his car is.”</p><p>The others followed as he almost jogged to the door.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>The pain in his shoulder would wan for a bit then come back so strong it would take his breath away.  He was trying to ride out the waves as best he could, attempting without much success to stay focused on the light fixture in the middle of the ceiling.</p><p>The door shot open and a short, plump woman with wild curly red hair and a huge smile almost bolted into the room.  “Oh good,” she squealed in an excited, cheery voice as she stopped at the right side of the bed, “you’re awake again.”  She smiled warmly, staring into his eyes, then reached out and gently laid her hand against the fine stubble on his right cheek.  “How are you feeling this morning, Lieutenant Stone?”</p><p>Knowing he was helpless, and knowing had to keep this woman on his side as he tried to figure out exactly what was going on, he smiled weakly.  “Call me Mike… please…”</p><p>Her smile got even wider.  “Why thank you… Mike.  You can call me Carole, okay?”</p><p>He nodded as best he could.  “It hurts…” he gasped, dragging his right hand towards his left shoulder, ignoring the handcuff and nylon rope.</p><p>Her face fell slightly.  “I know,” she frowned sympathetically.  “I tried to get the bullet out but it was too deep.  So we’re just gonna leave it in.”  She smiled brightly again, nodding.</p><p>He tried to keep the shock from registering on his face.  </p><p>“Do you think you could eat some breakfast?”</p><p>Still staring at her, trying to figure out just how much he could get away with, he nodded.  “I, ah, I need to go to the bathroom,” he said softly with an embarrassed facial shrug.  </p><p>Her brow furrowed.  “Oh, of course you do.  Unfortunately I don’t have a bedpan so you’re going to have to really go to the bathroom.”</p><p>He swallowed, his heart starting to pound.  This could be the opportunity he needed to get out of there, he thought.</p><p>“It’s just in the hallway out there,” she continued pleasantly as she circled the bed to the other side and began to untie the rope from the headboard as if nothing was amiss.</p><p>He followed her with his eyes, stunned that she had not mentioned the handcuffs or the ropes.  He closed his eyes, swallowing a smile, not believing his luck.  He would worry about her state of mind later, he thought.</p><p>She had the rope almost undone before she threw her head back and bellowed.  “Oliver!”</p><p>There was a loud thud from another room then the sound of heavy footsteps coming closer.  Mike opened his eyes and, gritting his teeth against the pain, raised his head to look towards the door.  His heart skipped a beat and his eyes widened when a young man came into view, a young man so big he almost filled the entire doorway.</p><p>“Yeah, ma…?”</p>
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<a name="section0020"><h2>20. Chapter 20</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>By the time he was dumped, heavily and unceremoniously, back onto the bed, the pain was so intense he couldn’t see.  Breathing in ragged gasps through his open mouth, his eyes squeezed closed, he could feel his entire body shaking with the effort to control the agony that radiated out from this left shoulder.</p><p>He didn’t even notice the ropes around his ankles being tied to the footboard, nor the one around his right wrist to the bedpost.  His head was lifted slightly and a pillow shoved under it.  He didn’t feel the IV line reattached to the needle in the back of his right hand but he did feel the weight of the blanket as it was pulled back into place.  </p><p>Suddenly a soft hand was against his cheek again, incongruously comforting.  “There, there,” Carole’s soothing voice reached through the miasma of pain that had enveloped him, “you just lie there for awhile… we’ll think about breakfast later…”  She patted his face gently a couple of times then the touch disappeared and a few seconds later he heard the door close.</p><p>He knew he was alone.  Still trying to get the pain under control, his gasps for air turned into silent sobs of fear and despair.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>“What the hell is this doing here?” Haseejian growled as he circled the dark blue Galaxie parked alongside the thick wooden ties at the edge of the pier.  </p><p>The car didn’t look like it had been abandoned in a hurry; the windows were up and the doors locked.  Without touching the side window, Healey, shielding his eyes from the sun, stared at the dashboard then nodded as he straightened up.  “The keys aren’t in the ignition.  It looks like it was parked here deliberately, not like it was dumped on the fly.”  </p><p>Olsen, staring at the sedan, his hands on his hips, was shaking his head slowly in bewilderment.  “Okay, I’m getting the lab guys down here.  I want them to go over the entire car for fingerprints.”</p><p>“I’ll do that,” Haseejian volunteered, heading back towards the moss green LTD that he and Healey had arrived in.  </p><p>Devitt was standing at the edge of the pier, staring down at the water.  Olsen and Healey joined him.  </p><p>Healey frowned at the grey-haired captain, following his stare.  “What?” he asked quietly.  “You don’t think…?”  He left the rest of the question hanging.</p><p>“What?” Devitt echoed, a touch of shock in his voice.  “No, of course not.  But I’m thinking, whoever dumped the car might’ve tossed the keys in there…”  He gestured towards the water with his chin.</p><p>Pursing his lips, Olsen nodded.  “You could be right about that, but I’m not gonna authorize a dive team until we’ve got more proof.”</p><p>Olsen looked back at the Galaxie.  “Where the hell is he?” he muttered under his breath.</p><p>“Captain!” Haseejian shouted from the LTD; he was standing in the open driver’s door, the radio mic in his hand.  All three turned towards him.  “Cassidy figured out where Mike went last night.  I’ve got the address.  He’s going to meet us there.”</p><p>As he started towards their cars, Olsen glanced at the others.  “Then let’s go.”  As he got closer to the maroon Galaxie, Devitt crossing to the driver’s side door, he stopped and turned to the two uniformed officers standing near their cruiser.  “The lab guys are coming here to process the car,” he nodded towards the dark blue Galaxie with his chin.  “When they finish, have it towed to the garage.”</p><p>“Yes, sir.”</p><p>He slipped onto his car and slammed the door, reaching under the seat for the portable red beacon and slapping it onto the roof over his head as Devitt followed the other unmarked car out of the pier.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>Cassidy was leaning against his car on the sidewalk outside the dilapidated four-storey walk-up when the two large sedans pulled to a stop further up the block and the four detectives got out.  He pushed himself upright as they joined him.  “He came here to see a Mrs. Carolyn Hetherington… 2B.”</p><p>He led them towards the wrought-iron gate and they were all surprised to find it unlocked, as was the front door.  They jogged up the stairs to the second floor, all of them noting the somewhat less than pristine condition of the entire building.  Haseejian made a mental note not to touch anything.</p><p>They stopped outside 2B and Cassidy knocked.  A pleasant female voice yelled, “Coming!” and they could all hear the soft footfalls approaching the door.  It opened slightly, to the length of the chain, and a tiny, wrinkled face, wearing a tentative smile under a neat thatch of white hair peered at them through narrowed eyes.  “Yes?”</p><p>“Ah, Mrs. Hetherington?” Cassidy asked.</p><p>“Yes…”</p><p>“Ah, I’m Captain Cassidy from the San Francisco Police.  Ah, if it’s all right, my colleagues and I,” he nodded vaguely over his shoulder, “were wondering if we could ask you a few questions?  It won’t take long.”  He was holding his badge up so she could see it.</p><p>Her eyes narrowed even more as she squinted at the I.D. then she shut the door and they could hear the chain being removed.  The door swung open again.  Her smile had disappeared.  “Well, it’s about time,” she lashed out.  “I called over two weeks ago.”</p><p>Taken aback, Cassidy scrambled.  “Ah, yes, we’re sorry for the delay -“ he began but Olsen, taking a step closer, cut him off.</p><p>“Nobody came to see you yesterday?” he asked, frowning, and her moist blue eyes snapped towards him.</p><p>“No, nobody came yesterday.  Or any other day for that matter.  I’ve been waiting -“</p><p>“You didn’t have a visit from a Lieutenant Stone late yesterday afternoon?” Olsen persisted.<br/>She pinned him with a glare that could have peeled paint.  “Didn’t I just tell you that?  Nobody’s come to see me about my complaint.”  Her eyes travelled across them all.  “And why are there five of you here?  That seems a little -“</p><p>“Excuse me, ma’am,” Devitt interrupted, pushing slightly in front of Olsen and pointing into the apartment.  There were several large cardboard boxes within view.  “Did you just move?”</p><p>Reflexively, she glanced over her shoulder before looking back at him.  “Yes, just a couple a days ago.  Why?’</p><p>“Where from?”</p><p>“What?”  Her head inclined slightly and she frowned in confusion.</p><p>“Where did you live before?” Devitt asked, trying to keep the impatience out of his voice.</p><p>“Upstairs.  I used to live on the fourth floor but climbing all those stairs was just getting to be too damn hard -“  She explained sharply, warming to the subject.</p><p>“What number?” Olsen overrode her, every eye now riveted on her face.</p><p>She froze, suddenly realizing the urgency in the request.  “4D.  I used to live in 4D.”</p><p>As one, all five detectives turned and started towards the staircase.  </p><p>“What?!” she called after them.  “I called you people and told you I’d moved!  So, are you going to do something about my complaint or not?!” she yelled as they disappeared from her sight.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>The bedroom door slammed open and Carole entered with a tray and a big smile, Oliver trailing in her wake.  “I think it’s time you had something to eat,” she announced brightly as she crossed to the right side of the bed and put the tray on the floor.</p><p>Oliver, a very large and very strong young man who Mike had realized was mentally challenged and almost non-verbal, padded heavily to the other side of the bed.  Without a word, he slipped his right arm under Mike’s shoulders and lifted him into a sitting position.  </p><p>The sudden movement was jarring.  Mike’s left shoulder exploded in pain once again and he cried out, almost putting his teeth through his bottom lip as he tried to control the agony while the room reeled in front of him and he teetered on the edge of consciousness.  </p><p>Oliver held the injured man in a sitting position as Carole stuffed a bunch of pillows, that had been stacked on the floor beside the bed, behind him.  Satisfied with her work, she nodded at her son, who let the now limp body slump back against the pillows then, without expression, he trudged from the room.</p><p>Humming to herself, Carole picked up the breakfast tray and put it on the bed over Mike’s legs.  She grabbed the red cloth napkin, shook it out and put it in his lap.</p><p>Breathing in short, sharp gasps, trying to get a handle on the pain, Mike opened his eyes, watching her every move.  As she poured a small amount of milk into the bowl of oatmeal, she glanced at him and smiled.  “I hope you’re hungry,” she chuckled brightly, her eyes wide and disturbingly warm.</p><p>He swallowed heavily then cleared his throat, trying to find his voice.  “Why are you doing this to me?” he asked breathlessly and he saw her freeze.  Her smile wavered slightly and she turned to him, a small part of the confidence leaving her face for a brief moment.</p><p>“Why, I’m saving your life, of course,” she said happily, her attention returning to the tray as she picked up a small canister of brown sugar and sprinkled it over the oatmeal.</p><p>He raised his right forearm slightly.  “Why am I tied to the bed?”</p><p>She glanced at him again with a quick grin.  “So you don’t fall out, silly,” she giggled as she picked up the spoon and scooped up a small portion of the oatmeal, bringing it close to his face.</p><p>He stared at her for a couple of very long seconds then he opened his mouth.  Very carefully, she inserted the spoon.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>It was very dark on the fourth floor.  The overhead light at the end of the hall was out and the small window offered very little light.  The glass been covered with newspaper at one point and was now more a wall than a window.</p><p>They moved silently down the corridor, their guns in their hands.  Cassidy led the way.  They could barely make out the 4D on the door when they approached.  Standing to the side, Cassidy knocked loudly.  All five listened carefully but nothing could be heard from inside.  Glancing at Devitt right behind him, Cassidy knocked again, louder.  “San Francisco Police,” he bellowed.  “Open up.”  There was still no sound.</p><p>With a frustrated sigh, Cassidy turned his head and looked at Olsen.  “What do you think?  Extenuating circumstances?”</p><p>“I think so,” the shorter, grey-haired captain agreed, looking at the others, who were all nodding.</p><p>“Yeah, that’s what I think too,” Cassidy concurred as he stepped in front of the door, reared back and drove his right leg into the wood near the knob.  The door shot open and he charged into the room, his gun up, the others right on his heels.  </p><p>Like the trained officers they were, they fanned out, moving quickly but cautiously through all the rooms of the small apartment, making sure no one was there.  </p><p>Seconds later, holstering their .38’s, they congregated in the living room.  All the rooms were completely empty but against the outer wall of the living room, near the window, was a thin, filthy mattress, a dirty blanket and pillow, an overflowing ashtray, a pack of rolling papers, a blue Bic lighter and an unknown number of empty chip bags and snack wrappers.  Someone had obviously been squatting.</p><p>Haseejian looked at Cassidy.  “So, what, you think Mike came here by mistake?”</p><p>The IA captain shrugged.</p><p>“What a minute?” Healey said, frowning at Cassidy.  “How come you had that lady’s apartment number and Mike didn’t?”</p><p>The captain’s eyes narrowed.  “I have no idea.  I found the file this morning on Mike’s desk and there was a telephone message sitting on top.  It had her apartment number on it.”  He reached into his pocket and pulled it out.  He crossed to the window and stared at it in the light then looked up at the others.  “It’s dated yesterday - 5:20 pm.”  He snorted dryly.</p><p>“Great,” Healey growled, “perfect timing…”</p><p>Devitt was looking around the living room, frowning.  “But I can’t see anything that tells us Mike was even here last night… do you?”</p><p>The others shook their heads, frustrated and worried.  Haseejian and Devitt started back towards the front door.  Olsen sighed heavily.  “I’ll put a uniform on this place and get the lab guys to check it out.  Maybe they can find something… get some fingerprints from all that crap…”  He gestured with barely-controlled anger at the detritus on the floor.</p><p>“Wait a second,” Haseejian said suddenly and they all looked to where he was standing at the front door.  He had raised his hand and was running it, shoulder high, over the wooden door.  “Roy, what does this look like to you?” he asked as Devitt examined the door then took a step out into the hallway.  </p><p>He squatted, staring at the carpet, then looked up at his colleagues who had gathered in the doorway.  “There’s blood…”</p>
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<a name="section0021"><h2>21. Chapter 21</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Shit,” Haseejian muttered under his breath.</p><p>Olsen pushed through the others and move closer to Devitt, who was still squatting over the carpet.  “Are you sure?”</p><p>The grey-haired lieutenant looked up and nodded.  “Yeah…” he confirmed softly.</p><p>“Well, ah, well, it might not be Mike’s, you know,” Olsen growled.  He looked over his shoulder at Healey and Haseejian.  “One of you get on the horn and get some lab techs here now and the other get ahold of the lab guys at the pier and find out if there’s any blood in that car.”</p><p>The two sergeants slipped past Olsen and Devitt and jogged down the narrow hallway to the stairs.  </p><p>“What do you want to do, Rudy?” Cassidy asked.</p><p>The small captain, staring at the stain on the carpet, shook his head in frustration and worry then looked up at the taller man.  “Get us some back up, a couple a unies. I want to knock on every door in this building and see if anybody saw or heard something.”</p><p>Cassidy jerked a thumb over his shoulder.  “I saw a phone in the kitchen.  I’ll see if it still works.”  He disappeared back into the apartment.</p><p>Devitt got to his feet.  “I don’t like the looks of this, Rudy,” he said quietly, his eyes darting from the carpet to the door before settling on his equally concerned colleague.  Olsen nodded.</p><p>Devitt closed the apartment door then took a step back.  He stood where someone would normally position themselves to knock right-handed then reached out to touch the small, splintered hole in the wood.  He brought his hand in a straight line from the hole to his body, touching his upper left chest.  He looked at Olsen again.</p><p>The older man raised his eyebrows and inhaled deeply.  “Yeah, I know, it doesn’t look good.  We gotta find him.”</p><p>Nodding, Devitt opened the door just as Cassidy was coming back towards it.  “The unies are on their way.”</p><p>Both Devitt and Olsen nodded.  </p><p>“Okay,” Olsen said with a heavy sigh, “let’s start knocking on doors, see if anybody saw anything.”  Devitt started to head down the hallway.  “Hey, where are you going?”</p><p>Devitt stopped and looked back.  “I was going to knock -“</p><p>“Not by yourself, you’re not,” Olsen barked.  “We don’t know what happened to Mike in here and until we do, none of us does anything alone.”</p><p>Devitt stared him down for a couple of seconds then acquiesced.  “You’re right,” he agreed with a shrug and rejoined the others.  </p><p>Cassidy knocked on the door across the hall from 4D just as Healey and Haseejian reappeared.  “The lab boys are on the way and there’s no blood in the car,” Healey announced as they got closer.</p><p>Olsen shook his head.  “I don’t know if that’s good or bad…”</p><p>“Listen, ah, we’re knocking on doors,” Devitt explained, “but we’re doing it in pairs… or, in our case, trios…” he said lightly, finding a smile in the despair as he gestured at himself and the other two captains.</p><p>Healey, Haseejian and Cassidy swallowed tiny smiles as Olsen growled.  Devitt looked at him and shrugged.  “Mike would find that funny…”  Shaking his head, Olsen looked at the others.</p><p>Healey gestured back down the hallway.  “Ah, we’ll start on the second floor.”</p><p>Clearing his throat, still smiling, Cassidy knocked on the door of 4C again, louder.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>Breakfast finished, Mike had been held in a sitting position again as the pillows were removed.  By the time he was once more on his back he was semi-conscious.  Carole gave him another shot in his upper right arm then left the room, leaving the door slightly ajar.</p><p>The pain didn’t go away; it never went away.  He was pretty sure he wasn’t getting any medication in those shots; he only hoped it was water or something equally benign.  He turned his head slightly on the pillow, ignoring the discomfort, and pulled his right arm out from under the blanket.  He looked from the needle on the back of his hand to the bag of clear fluid hanging from the IV pole beside the bed.</p><p>He had seen enough IV apparatus over the years to know there was something missing from this one.  He stared at it, trying to figure out what was wrong.</p><p>A loud knock startled him; a loud knock on the front door, he realized sluggishly.  He froze, his heart starting to pound.  He turned his head and tried to look through the crack in the partially open door.  He heard the loud whisper of Carole’s voice and the sound of heavy footsteps.</p><p>The door opened and Oliver lumbered into the room.  Glancing with a frown over his shoulder, he closed the door and moved closer to the head of the bed.  He stared dully down at Mike, barely blinking and slowly lifted his thick right hand.  Then, almost laboriously, he put his raised index finger to his mouth, blowing air soundlessly through his lips.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>The door opened and a slightly overweight, middle-aged, red-headed woman with a kind face smiled at them warily.  Devitt and Olsen held up their stars and I.D’s.  “I’m Captain Devitt, this is Captain Olsen, we’re with the San Francisco Police Department.  Would it be okay if we asked you some questions?”</p><p>Her eyes widening, looking from one detective to the other, she nodded, looking a bit flustered.   “Oh my, yes…  What do you want to know?”</p><p>“Were you at home last night from about 4 to 6 p.m.?”</p><p>She nodded enthusiastically.  “Oh, yes, I was here… I’m always here,” she laughed self-deprecatingly.</p><p>“Good,” Devitt smiled warmly.  “Did you hear or notice anything unusual happen down the hallway here… around 4D?”  He pointed to his right and her head automatically turned slightly in that direction.</p><p>“Last night?”</p><p>Both detectives nodded.</p><p>She started to shake her head.  “No… sorry, I didn’t hear anything.  It’s a pretty quiet building…” She shrugged apologetically.  “People kinda keep to themselves around here.”</p><p>“Do you know your neighbors?”</p><p>She tilted her head with what could only be called a friendly frown.  “Well, I know Mrs. Hetherington.  She was in 4D but she moved downstairs a couple of days ago.  The stairs, you know…  I don’t know the fella in 4C - he works a lot I think,” she had leaned forward and lowered her voice, speaking conspiratorially, “and there’s a new couple moved in across the hall there,” she pointed, “but I haven’t met them yet.  They’re not around much either.”  She stopped talking and just stared at them, smiling.</p><p>Olsen glanced at Devitt and cleared his throat.  “Ah, thank you, thank you very much.  Sorry to disturb you.”  He nodded once, briskly, and Devitt swallowed a smile; he was sure if Olsen was wearing a hat, he would have tipped it.</p><p>“Sorry I couldn’t be more help.  Bye-bye now.”  She took a step back and closed the door.  They could hear the chain rattle.</p><p>Devitt turned to his colleague and sighed.  “Let’s see how the other guys are doing.”</p><p>They headed for the stairs.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>The bedroom door opened but Carole didn’t come in.  Oliver looked sullenly towards the now open door then turned and slowly left the room.  He closed the door behind him.</p><p>Mike stared at the ceiling, his heart still pounding.  A faint sheen of sweat was covering his face and he had started to shiver.  He pulled his right arm free of the blanket and dragged it down to his waist.  Bracing himself for the pain, he raised his head, looking as best he could at his bandaged shoulder.  There was a thick gauze pad over the wound, anchored by tensor bandages that looped over his shoulder and around his upper chest.</p><p>Gritting his teeth, he grabbed the edge of the gauze pad and raised it as much as he could against the pull of the tensor bandages.  It wasn’t high but it was enough for him to see the ragged hole in his skin and the blood-soaked dressing.  With a small gasp, more from fear than pain, he gently lowered the pad.</p><p>He let his right arm slide to the bed at his side and his head fall back onto the pillow.  Breathing unsteadily, he closed his eyes, feeling the moisture trying to escape from between the lids.  He had never felt so alone or so scared.  And he knew he needed real medical attention and he needed it now. </p><p># # # # #</p><p>They reconvened at Cassidy’s car.  Nobody in the building had seen or heard anything, or so they had been told, but they had talked to less than half of the tenants.  The rest weren’t home.</p><p>Olsen wasn’t satisfied.  “I want a background check on everyone in this building.  Everyone.  Even the cat lady.  And I don’t care if we have to work all night to get it.  If Mike was shot in there, somebody has to know something.  He didn’t just disappear.”</p><p>The others nodded, starting to scatter towards their respective vehicles.  Devitt glanced at his watch.  “Rudy…”  The other man stopped and turned, frowning.  He held his wrist up, exposing his watch.  “We said we were going to stop by the hospital and see if Steve was awake…?”  He raised his eyebrows in a question.</p><p>Olsen looked at his own watch.  “Yeah, you’re right.”  </p><p>Healey and Haseejian had stopped at their car, noticing the others’ hesitation.  </p><p>“You guys go ahead and start on the list,” Olsen called towards them.  “Roy and I are going to head over to St. Mary’s and see if Steve’s awake.”</p><p>Nodding, Healey and Haseejian got into their car.  </p><p>Olsen slid into the passenger seat of the Galaxie and dropped his head into his hands then looked across the front seat as Devitt shifted into drive and pulled away from the curb.  “So… what do we tell him if he asks where Mike is?”</p><p>Devitt snorted softly.  “I’m sure you’ll think of something before we get there.”</p><p># # # # #</p><p>They stopped at the nurses station on the fourth floor, their badges in their hands.  The nurse confirmed that Steve was indeed awake but not really up for visitors.  Promising it would be brief, and that it was actually official police business, she gave them permission with a concerned frown.</p><p>They approached the door with more than a little trepidation.  Devitt pushed it open slowly, gesturing Olsen in ahead of him.  The older man flashed a smirk as he passed.  “Thanks,” he mumbled under his breath.</p><p>Pasting a smile on his face, Olsen approached the bed, Devitt trailing several steps behind.  Steve was no longer attached to the heart monitor and the tube had obviously been removed.  He was wearing a pale blue hospital gown under the light blanket, and his head rested on a thin pillow on the partially raised bed.  His hands were folded across his stomach and his eyes were closed.</p><p>At the sound of their approach, he opened his eyes and turned his head slightly.  His brows rose sharply then knit in a frown.  And it was obvious from his expression, as hampered as it was by the wired jaw, that he was expecting to see his partner.  </p><p>Both visitors smiled encouragingly.  “Well, you’re sure looking a bit better,” Olsen said with a soft chuckle and he moved as close to the bed as he could so the injured young man didn’t have to turn his head any further.  “How do you feel?”</p><p>Steve started to nod slowly, still frowning.  “Where’s Mike?” he managed to mumble and both captains were surprised they could understand him.</p><p>Devitt’s eyes flicked almost imperceptibly to the back of Olsen’s head; he still didn’t know what the older man had decided to use as an excuse.  </p><p>Olsen cleared his throat then smiled.  “He’s, ah, he’s up in Seattle.”</p><p>Devitt froze, trying not to react, as Steve’s eyes widened in surprise.  “Seattle…?” Mike’s partner managed to get out.  “Why?”</p><p>“He, ah, well, that’s where he had to go to follow up on an IA case he was assigned.  That’s all Captain Cassidy would tell me.  You know how close-mouthed they are about their cases.”  Olsen shrugged.  “Anyway, Mike flew up there yesterday before, ah, before all this happened,” his voice became soft and hesitant, and he gestured vaguely at the bed.  “He was supposed to come home today but they’ve got big thunderstorms up there and his flight was cancelled…” He shrugged, shaking his head.</p><p>Steve looked away briefly, frowning again.  “Does he know?”</p><p>“About you?”</p><p>The injured young man nodded carefully.</p><p>“Ah, no… no, I didn’t want to tell him… didn’t want him to worry and do something stupid trying to get back here, you know?”  Olsen smiled sadly.</p><p>Steve nodded again.</p><p>“But, ah,” Olsen brightened, “he’ll be back tomorrow morning, I promise.  The weather’s supposed to clear up.”</p><p>Steve’s eyes had drifted to the ceiling.</p><p>“Listen, ah,” Devitt stepped forward, “we better let you get some rest.”  He reached out and patted Steve’s arm and the green eyes shifted slowly in his direction.  “We’ll come back sometime tomorrow.”  He smiled encouragingly.  “We’ll talk then… about what happened and everything… okay?”</p><p>Steve stared at him for a couple of very long seconds then nodded once more.  Smiling, Devitt patted his arm again then led Olsen to the door.  They looked back as they stepped back into the bustling corridor; the young man was staring at the ceiling again.</p><p>“Do you think he believed you?” Devitt asked as they started towards the elevators.</p><p>Olsen’s features creased in a facial shrug.  “I have no idea.  But that wasn’t just an idle promise.”  As he punched the DOWN button, he looked at his colleague, his jaw set.  “He will be back tomorrow, if I have to tear this city apart to find him.”</p>
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<a name="section0022"><h2>22. Chapter 22</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Olsen almost charged into the bullpen, Devitt on his heels.  Haseejian was on the phone at his desk; Healey was just hanging up.  “Anything new?” he growled to the room at large as he crossed to the inner office, tearing his off his suitcoat and hanging it on the rack before circling the desk and picking up the phone.  Devitt wandered to the coffee stand.</p><p>Healey appeared at the doorway with a piece of foolscap in his hand.  “I found out who owns the apartment building and I’m just going to give him a call, get the list of tenants.  Norm’s on the horn to Greg Delphy, at home.”  Delphy ran their Records Department.  “He’s asking for a couple of people to come in tonight so we can get the backgrounds on -“</p><p>“Tell Norm if Delphy gives him any trouble, let me get on the line.  I don’t care how much overtime it’s gonna cost, I want at least two records clerks assigned to us until we get this done, you got that?”</p><p>“Yes, sir,” Healey nodded, turning on his heel and striding across the bullpen to his partner’s desk. </p><p>Devitt entered the small office with two cups of coffee, setting one on the desk in front of Olsen.  </p><p>Nodding his thanks, the older man ordered, “Close the door,” as he dialed.  He waited a beat; Devitt did as he was told then sank into one of the guest chairs.  “Yes, this is Captain Olsen.  I need to speak to the Chief.  Tell him it’s urgent.”  Olsen picked up the cup, smiling at Devitt and winking.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>Mike’s office door opened and Olsen strode to the centre of the bullpen, Devitt in his wake.  Every eye in the place turned in his direction, a couple of detectives, like Healey, putting their hands over the mouthpieces of the receivers at their ears.</p><p>“I just got off the phone with the Chief.  He now knows everything we do.  He’s with us a hundred percent and we have the power of the entire department behind us if we need it.  We also have his not inconsequential clout, and he’s willing to bring in the Mayor if we need him as well.”  He looked at each man individually.  “So, let’s get this done, shall we…  Let’s bring Mike home.”</p><p>Every man in the room nodded.</p><p>“All right, then, what have we got?”</p><p>“I just heard from Forensics” Haseejian responded.  “They went over the car Mike was driving and there are a bunch of prints on it, of course, except on the driver’s door handle, the rear view mirror, the gear shift and the steering wheel - like it was wiped down.”</p><p>“That figures,” Devitt growled.</p><p>“Did they try the back of the side mirror?” Olsen asked. “That’s always a good place to find a print.”</p><p>The Armenian sergeants brows shot up.  “Good point.  I’ll call and ask them.”  He snorted to himself, impressed by the captain’s perspicacity.  “And, ah, they went over all that crap left in the apartment and they got some fingerprints off the chip bags and snack wrappers.  But so far there’s no match to anybody in the system.”</p><p>“What about the blood on the carpet?” Devitt asked.</p><p>“O-positive,” Haseejian replied.  “Same as Mike… and about forty percent of the population…”</p><p>Olsen exhaled loudly and nodded.</p><p>Healey hung up.  “That was the building manager,” he said, pointing at his phone.  “He’s gonna put a list of the tenants together for us.  He’s gotta go into his office to do it.  He said it should be done in about an hour.  He’s over on Sacramento.”</p><p>“Send a black-and-white to pick it up,” Olsen instructed.  </p><p>Healey nodded and turned back to the desk, picking up the phone again.</p><p>“Gentlemen,” Olsen addressed the room.  “It’s going to be a long night, and we can’t really get started until we get that list from the manager.  There’s only 16 units in the building so it won’t be a long list.”  He looked around the room.  “Norm, Dan, Bill, Lee - I want you guys working on the list.  The rest of you, I want you working your C.I.’s.  Talk to everybody who may know something.  A Homicide detective doesn’t just disappear without someone knowing something.  And try to find out who was squatting in that building… I think that’s the key to all this.”  They were all staring at him, nodding.  “All right, go.  And good luck…”</p><p>After the others had left, Olsen looked at the remaining small group.  This was Mike’s core, the men he trusted above all others, the ones who would walk through fire for him.  He smiled wistfully.</p><p>“Listen, fellas, ah, while we have the time, why don’t we take a break and get ourselves some dinner… ‘cause I have a feeling it’s going to be a quite a while till any of us gets the chance to eat again.”</p><p>As everyone nodded, getting to their feet and putting their jackets on, Olsen looked at Steve’s empty desk.  He had a promise to keep, not only to the young man lying in a hospital bed but to the man whose name was on the door behind him.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>Healey glanced at his watch.  3:25.  He dropped his head into his hands and rubbed his fingers into his tired eyes.</p><p>They had received the list of tenants just before 10, then he and Haseejian had spent some time down in Records going over the list with the researchers.  The material started trickling up soon after, and each officer in the room took a file as the appeared.  They were going through them with a fine-toothed comb, examining every detail, hoping they didn’t miss something that could turn out to be the vital clue they needed.</p><p>Exhaling loudly, he ran a hand through his hair then rubbed the back of his neck.  He picked up his empty coffee cup and got to his feet, working the kinks out of his back as he crossed to the coffee station. </p><p>As he started to pour from the fresh pot, not quite sure who had made it but hoping it wasn’t Olsen, he saw Haseejian snap to attention in his chair, staring at the file in his hand.  “What?”</p><p>Without a word, as if he hadn’t heard, Haseejian got slowly to his feet, his eyes still on the file, and started to walk towards the inner office.  </p><p>“What?” Healey repeated a little louder, putting the coffee pot down and following.</p><p>“Captain,” Haseejian said sharply as he stopped through the door and two heads snapped up, frowning.  “Ah, Captains,” he corrected himself, “this might not be anything but, like Mike always says, I hate coincidences.”  He held up the file.</p><p>“What is it?” Olsen asked, taking his reading glasses off.</p><p>“One of the tenants used to be a nurse, for almost twenty years.  She was fired two years ago but won a wrongful dismissal lawsuit.  According to her file here, she didn’t go back to work.  She lives with her son… her adult son.  And she has a record, sort of.”  He looked at the captains and raised his eyebrows then looked back at the file.  “She was arrested for Forcible Confinement last year but the charges were dropped when the homeless man she was accused of detaining refused to press charges.”</p><p>Healey was looking at the file over his partner’s shoulder and slipped the DMV photo from under the paperclip at the top of the folder.  He stared at it for several seconds, shaking his head, then he set it on the desk in front of Devitt.</p><p>The grey-haired captain froze, his eyes widening.  “Holy crap…” he breathed, staring at the photo then very slowly turning it around for Olsen to see.</p><p>Putting his glasses back on, Olsen picked up the photo, his eyes snapping to Devitt’s.  “We talked to her.”  He sounded both alarmed and worried.  “She’s in the apartment right beside the empty one.”</p><p>Haseejian nodded.  “4B.”</p><p>No one moved, contemplating the implications.  “He could still be in the building…” Devitt said eventually, putting voice to what they all were thinking.  “That would explain why no one saw him being taken out…”</p><p>“What’s her name?” Healey asked.</p><p>“Carole Webster,” Haseejian answered.  “Her son’s name is Oliver.”</p><p>Olsen looked up.  “I want to find out everything we can about her in the next couple of hours, because I want to be standing at her door again when the sun comes up.  I want to know why she was fired, so somebody needs to call the hospital.  And if they spout that ‘privilege’ crap, you just let me know and I’ll sic the Chief and maybe the Mayor on them.</p><p>“I want to know about that Forcible Confinement charge - everything.  And I want to know all about that son of hers and if we have to worry about him.  So somebody’s got to wake up that building manager or the superintendent, if there is one, and see what they know.  And I want to get a search warrant.”  He looked at Devitt.  “Roy are you still tight with Judge Rinder, tight enough to wake him before dawn and get him to sign a search warrant based on what we’ve got?”</p><p>Devitt nodded.  “I think so.  He owes me… but more importantly, he owes Mike a lot more.”</p><p>“Good.”  Olsen smiled almost sadly.  “Good work, gentlemen.  Now let’s go the final mile, and hopefully we’ll get Mike back sooner than later, and I won’t have broken a promise.”</p><p>While Healey and Haseejian frowned slightly, Devitt smiled.  </p><p># # # # #</p><p>It was just before 5 am when Healey and Haseeijan trudged into Mike’s office and dropped heavily into the two guest chairs.  The captain was lying back in the swivel chair, his eyes closed and his mouth open; he was snoring softly.</p><p>The two sergeants looked at each other; both were loathe to wake the older man but they had more information to impart.  Healey softly cleared his throat and Olsen snapped awake, briefly flustered.  Noticing his colleagues watching him with soft smiles, he cleared his throat loudly, picking up his glasses from the desk and putting them on.  He looked out into the bullpen with a frown.  “Where’s Roy?”</p><p>“Waking up Judge Rinder,” Healey offered with a chuckle.</p><p>Haseejian raised the papers in his hand. “We’ve got more information.”</p><p>Olsen leaned over the desk.  “What’ve you got?”</p><p>“Carole Webster was fired from St. Francis for ‘behavioral problems’,” Haseejian read from the paper, making air quotes with his tone.</p><p>“Behavioral problems?  What the hell does that mean?”</p><p>Haseejian tilted his head.  “Well, they weren’t going to tell me at first, ‘privilege’ and all that, but I, ah… I persuaded them.  Seems she started stealing things, though they couldn’t prove it, and she started dressing like one of the doctors and treating patients… even referring to herself as a doctor and dressing down the other nurses in front of patients…. They said she was warned many times but she didn’t stop so they had to release her.  She cried foul, hired a good lawyer who was going to tie the hospital up in red tape for years so they settled and she walked away with a tidy sum, and her pension intact.”  He raised his eyebrows.  </p><p>Olsen frowned.  “What about the Forcible Confinement charge?”</p><p>Healey shook his head, exhaling loudly.  “Turns out she had her son bring a homeless guy who was going through the D.T.’s up to the apartment to ‘nurse him back to health’ by tying him to a bed and ‘administering’ to him.  Turns out the homeless guy yelled loud enough some of the neighbors heard him and they called the cops.  He just wanted out, he didn’t want to press charges so they eventually let it drop, with a warning.”  He shrugged as Haseejian and Olsen shared a look; it sounded disturbing yet somewhat hopeful.</p><p>Healey shuffled the papers in his hand.  “And I finally got ahold of the building super - he wasn’t too happy I woke him up but when I told him who I was, he came around pretty fast.  Anyway, he says he’s only bumped into the son, Oliver, a few times in the three years he’s been the super, and the kid is big and strong but he’s not too bright.  The super called him retarded.  But he says he doesn’t know if the kid can be violent or not but if he was, well, like I said, he’s a big, muscular kid.”</p><p>Olsen sat back, digesting the new information.  The spectre of a large, strong, mentally-challenged young man added an entire other dimension to their dilemma.</p><p>Haseejian leaned forward.  “So what do you think?  We go in as soon as we get the search warrant… or we sit on the house and wait till the kid leaves, for some reason?”</p><p>Olsen shook his head.  “That could take too long, and if Mike’s in there, and he’s as hurt as we think he is, I don’t want to take that chance.  I want to get him out as fast as we can.”  He looked at Healey.  “Call the super back and ask him if he has a key to that apartment.  That way we won’t have to knock.”</p><p>Haseejian and Healey nodded, sobered by the seriousness of the situation.  </p><p>Olsen leaned forward, resting his forearms against the desk.  “Listen, ah,” he began quietly, “I don’t want to bring an ambulance with us unless we’re wrong and we’ve taken one out of service unnecessarily… but, ah, can one of you tell them we might be making that call and give them the address so they’re ready if we need them…?  And notify the M.E.’s office too… just in case…”</p><p>Closing his eyes, a lump forming in the back of his throat, Healey nodded.</p>
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<a name="section0023"><h2>23. Chapter 23</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The elevator door opened and four detectives stepped out into the silent garage, heading for the row of unmarked sedans.  Healey and Devitt reached into their jacket pockets for keys.  As they rounded a pillar, they all started slightly; Captain Cassidy was leaning against the fender of the moss green LTD.</p><p>“What the hell are you doing here?” Olsen asked and he and Devitt split and circled their car.  </p><p>Cassidy pushed himself up with a wistful smile then moved past Olsen to the passenger side back door.  “Mike was working for me, remember?  I have as much at stake in this as you do.”</p><p>Olsen stared at him silently for a long beat then nodded, opening the door and getting in.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>The sun was well up but the streets still eerily quiet as the two unmarked sedans slid to the curb down the street from the four-storey walk-up.  The doors opened and five detectives emerged, walking silently up the street.  They paused briefly on the sidewalk, Olsen making eye contact with each one of them, and each one of them nodding back.</p><p>With a tight, mirthless smile, Olsen led the way into the building and up the stairs, all of them moving as silently as they could on the linoleum covered steps.  The filthy carpeting in the hallway muffled their footsteps as they approached the door of 4B.  Olsen looked at Healey, who took a key out of his pocket and slid it silently into the knob.</p><p>He glanced back at the others; they all had their service revolvers in their hands.  Taking a deep breath, Healey turned the key and they heard the tumblers click over.  He opened the door slowly, half expecting it to be stopped by the chain, but it opened easily, although with a heart-stopping creak.  </p><p>They stepped noiselessly into the large, cluttered living room.  There was an open entranceway to the kitchen on their right and three closed doors, one on the left, the other two straight ahead.  </p><p>Oliver Webster was lying on the couch, sound asleep and snoring.  He was on his side, facing away, a blanket hanging half on the floor.  His gun in front of him, Healey approached the couch, stopping with the barrel of his .38 about a foot away from the young man’s head.  He glanced over his shoulder; Haseejian sidled up beside him.</p><p>Devitt and Cassidy were moving quietly towards the door on the left, assuming it was a bedroom.  Slowly and silently, Devitt reached out and turned the knob then pushed the door open, hoping it wouldn’t creak; it didn’t.  He stared into the darkened room then glanced over his shoulder at Olsen, standing in the centre of the room, and nodded.</p><p>The captain nodded back.  Their first objective had been to take Carole and Oliver Webster by surprise, restrain them, and then look for Mike.  No matter what, everyone’s safety was their first priority.  </p><p>Devitt and Cassidy moved softy into the room, Devitt going to the far side of the bed, their guns trained on the sleeping figure.  Olsen moved so he could be seen by Devitt and Healey, both detectives staring at him, waiting for the signal; it was imperative that this was done simultaneously.  Satisfied that everyone was ready, he nodded.</p><p>Haseejian reached out and grabbed Oliver’s arm, pulling him abruptly backwards and off the couch.  The young man’s eyes snapped open and he gasped, his eyes widening even more as, flailing wildly, he fell heavily to the floor.  </p><p>“Police, Mrs. Webster!  Wake up!” Devitt yelled loudly and the figure on the bed jerked, scrambling to sit up, the suddenly terrified blue eyes snapping from one gun to the other as she grabbed the blanket and pulled it up, skittering back closer to the headboard and pulling her legs up to her chest.</p><p>“What’s going on?!” she demanded.  Her head was snapping back and forth between the two men on either side of the bed.  “Who are you?!  Why are you doing this to us?!”</p><p>Satisfied the Websters were under control, Olsen, his gun still in his hand, stepped to one of the other closed doors and opened it.  It was a bathroom.  He moved swiftly to the last door and opened it.  The room, obviously another bedroom, was dark but he could see a figure in the bed.  He snapped on the overhead light then crossed quickly to the head of the bed.</p><p>Healey and Haseejian were grappling with Oliver, who wasn’t resisting but wasn’t complying either, and they were having trouble getting cuffs on him.  Cassidy had reached for Carole Webster and managed to turn her so he could pin her arms behind her back; Devitt had his cuffs ready.</p><p>The sound of Olsen’s yell, filled with more emotion that they thought possible to put into just two words, made all their hearts stop.  “He’s here!”</p><p>Cassidy glanced at Devitt and nodded.  The grey-haired captain spun and bolted from the room.  </p><p>Healey, still struggling with the uncooperative Oliver, looked up at Haseejian,  “Go,” he ordered breathlessly.  Haseejian followed Devitt into the bedroom.  Olsen was standing at the head of the bed, a worried but relieved look on his tired face. </p><p>Mike, barely conscious, his eyes a slit in his drawn, pain-filled, beard-stubbled face, was staring up in disbelief.  “Rudy…?” he breathed.  They could barely hear him.</p><p>Olsen tried to smile, leaning over the bed and awkwardly patting the top of the injured man’s head.  “Yeah… yeah, it’s me, Mike.  We found you…”  His eyes traveled over what he could see of his friend, the bloody shirt, the thick bandage over the left shoulder, the arm in the sling.  Swallowing heavily, he glanced to his left and met Haseejian’s eyes.</p><p>Knowing what the look meant, the sergeant nodded and almost ran from the room, not even glancing at Healey as he disappeared out the front door.  Cassidy came through the bedroom door, propelling Carole in front of him, her hands cuffed behind her back.  He pushed her down on the couch as Healey pulled Oliver up as best he could and gestured for him to sit on the sofa beside his mother.  Thankfully, the imposing young man meekly complied.</p><p>Knowing the Homicide sergeant had a closer relationship with Mike Stone than he did, Cassidy nodded at Healey then cocked his head towards the bedroom.  With a tight, grateful smile, Healey holstered his gun as he almost jogged into the room, brushing past Devitt, who was exiting.  Their eyes met briefly; Devitt looked worried.  </p><p>Healey pulled up beside Olsen, quickly taking in the sight of his wounded boss; Mike looked awful and he felt his heart constrict.  He watched in amazement as the bloodshot blue eyes slid in his direction and a slight smile curled the lieutenant’s lips.  “Dan…” he acknowledged weakly and Healey tried to grin, hoping it made it to his eyes.  </p><p>“Mike…”  He reached out impart a comforting touch but stopped himself, not wanting to aggravate the discomfort that Mike was so obviously in.</p><p>Devitt reappeared with a wet facecloth and handed it to Olsen.  With surprising gentleness, Olsen leaned over the bed and began to pat the beads of sweat from Mike’s face.  </p><p>Healey’s gaze wandered to the head of the bed, knitting in a quick frown when he noticed the thin nylon rope tied around the post of the headboard.  His eyes snapped to the footboard and the two ropes tied there as well.  “Dear god,” he muttered furiously under his breath as he circled the bed, gently lifting the blanket off Mike’s right arm, briefly freezing in shock when the handcuff was exposed.</p><p>He glanced up at Devitt and Olsen, who had been watching him, and they shared an angry look.  Swallowing heavily, Healey reached into his pants pocket, pulling out small silver key.  He sat on the edge of bed and gently picked up Mike’s right wrist, careful of the IV needle.  “Here,” he said with a forced lightness, glancing at the lieutenant, who had closed his eyes again, “let’s get rid of this…”  He unsnapped the cuff and carefully slipped it off, then lowered the hand back to the bed.</p><p>Leaving the cuffs on the rope, he dropped them quietly to the floor then moved to the foot of the bed where Devitt had already lifted the blanket off Mike’s feet and ankles.  They shared a rage-filled look.  Healey exhaled heavily through his nose and briefly closed his eyes, feeling a brief but compassionate pat on the back from his equally furious colleague.</p><p>They studied the ropes tied to the footboard, and the ends around the lieutenant’s bare ankles.  Fortunately the ropes weren’t tied very tight but the knots were incredibly taut and impossible to undo with just their fingers.  Knowing the ropes would need to be cut off later, they untied the nylon cords from the footboard then pulled the blanket back down.</p><p>Healey stepped away from the bed and ran his hands over his face.  Devitt wandered towards Olsen and smiled down their wounded colleague, trying to control his building rage.</p><p>“The ambulance and a couple of patrol cars are on their way,” Haseejian announced breathlessly as he suddenly reappeared in the room.  He positioned himself between Olsen and Devitt, his eyes riveted on the bed.  After a couple of seconds of stunned silence, he grinned.  “How ya doin’, boss?” he asked with an incongruous chortle and the others froze.</p><p>Mike, who had closed his eyes, opened them slowly and looked in the Armenian sergeant’s direction.  After a couple of long seconds, he smiled as best he could.  “I’m doin’ great, Norm,” he answered weakly but trying to chuckle.  “How are you?”</p><p>Haseejian laughed.  The others relaxed.</p><p>Mike’s eyes slid to Olsen again, who was still wiping his face with the wet cloth.  “Where’s Steve…?”</p><p>Olsen’s hand froze almost imperceptibly and he quickly cleared his throat.  He could feel Devitt’s eyes on him.  “Well, ah, we had more than one place to raid this morning… trying to find you.  He’s, ah, he’s leading the other team.”  For some unknown reason, he glanced at Haseejian for support.</p><p>After an awkward, confused beat, the sergeant blurted out, “Ah, yeah, he’s across town… with Bill and Lee… But he knows.  He’s gonna meet us at the hospital.”</p><p>With a weak but satisfied smile, Mike closed his eyes again.  As the sound of the approaching siren reached their ears, the detectives exchanged relieved glances.</p><p>The siren fell silent and about a minute later they could hear the sound of heavy footsteps mounting the stairs.  Two paramedics, gear in hand, hustled into the bedroom, taking in the four detectives standing around the bed before dropping their equipment.  The cops backed away as one of the EMT’s circled the bed to the far side and, glancing at the IV apparatus with a curious frown, climbed carefully onto the bed to get better access.  They already knew who their patient was and that he had been shot around 36 hours before, and went to work immediately.</p><p>The EMT on the bed smiled encouragingly as he pulled the blanket away and dropped it on the floor.  “How are you doing, Lieutenant?”  </p><p>Mike had opened his eyes.  “Can I… get something… for the pain?” he gasped, biting his bottom lip.</p><p>The paramedic frowned then nodded.  “Yeah… yeah, of course.”  He looked up at his partner, and they both looked at the IV line in the back of their patient’s right hand.  Their frowns deepened.  </p><p>The detectives watched silently as, with impressive speed and efficiently, Mike was given a shot into the vein on the inside on his right elbow.  Everyone watched as the tight, pain-filled lines on their wounded colleague’s face began to ease and a soft sigh escape his lips as he closed his eyes and let the welcome numbness wash over him.</p><p>As the EMT kneeling on the floor unpacked one of their cases, he looked up and caught Haseejian’s attention.  “We’re not gonna be able to get him down those steps with a gurney or even a stretcher,” he said quickly.  “You need to get the rescue squad here, with a litter.”</p><p>Nodding, with another glance back at the bed, the sergeant left the room again, past Cassidy who was standing guard over the subdued and silent Websters.</p><p>“Lieutenant?” the EMT on the bed said, leaning over his patient.  Mike opened his eyes a slit.  “We need to have a look at your shoulder before we get you out of here.”  He held up the large pair of Lister scissors his partner had handed him.  “I’m gonna have to cut the bandages off.  Are you okay with that?”</p><p>Closing his eyes again, Mike nodded.  </p><p>Very gently, the paramedic slipped Mike’s left arm out of the sling and lowered it to the bed, then he slid the flat bottom of the scissors under the tensor bandage around Mike’s chest and cut it open.  He moved the scissors to the bandage over the shoulder and within seconds, he was carefully lifting the blood-soaked gauze pad off the wound.  The three detectives, watching at a distance with held breaths, squirmed uneasily when the unusually large, ragged hole in Mike’s shoulder was revealed.</p><p>“Has, ah, has the bullet been removed?” the EMT asked, trying to keep the worry from his voice.</p><p>Keeping his eyes closed, Mike snorted dryly and shook his head slightly.  “She said she tried but it was too deep…” he explained softly.</p><p>Healey dropped his head and exhaled loudly.  Olsen took a step back, shaking his head and staring at the floor.  Devitt clenched his jaw, looking angrily over his shoulder towards the living room.</p><p>“Don’t worry, Lieutenant,” the paramedic said encouragingly.  “You’re surrounded by friends now.  We’re all gonna look after you… everything’s gonna be okay…”  He looked up at the cops and smiled.</p><p>And somehow they knew he was right.</p>
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<a name="section0024"><h2>24. Chapter 24</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It didn’t take long for the fire department’s rescue truck to arrive with the litter, and four burly firemen crowded into the increasingly cramped living room with it.  Cassidy, who had read Carole Webster and her son their rights, had turned them over to two uniformed officers then joined his colleagues in the bedroom, trying to keep out of everyone’s way.</p><p>Healey had discovered a small pile of clothes on the floor in the bedroom closet:  Mike’s shoes, belt, suitcoat with a small hole in the left shoulder, bloody maroon knit vest, and the fedora.  He held them close as, standing in a corner, he watched the swirl of activity around him, knowing they had done all they could and Mike’s care was now in someone else’s hands.</p><p>The paramedics had redressed the wound with a clean gauze pad and surgical tape, taken the IV needle out of the back of his hand, wrapped him in one of their own blankets and, with the assistance of Healey and Haseejian, transferred the semi-conscious lieutenant to the litter and strapped him in.</p><p>Cassidy volunteered to stay behind and oversee the transport of the Websters downtown.  The firefighters, who were used to this kind of situation in a city with small domiciles, narrow staircases and lack of elevators, had their wounded police comrade down the stairs and out onto the street, transferred to a gurney and loaded into the back of the ambulance faster than the detectives had anticipated, much to their relief.  As the double doors of the ambulance were slammed shut, they jogged to their cars.  </p><p>Devitt turned the key as Olsen put the cherry on the roof and the sedan shot away from the curb, racing to catch up.  When they did, Devitt managed a quick glance across the front seat.  Olsen’s eyes were glued to the back of the ambulance but there was a sense of calm emanating from him now; they had accomplished what they had set out to do.</p><p>Devitt smiled to himself; it did feel good, he had to admit.  As he followed the ambulance around a corner, knowing they were heading to St. Mary’s, his eyes flicked towards Olsen again and, smiling a little wider, he raised his voice to be heard over the wail of the siren.  “You do know you’ve lied to both of them now, right?”</p><p>Olsen’s eyes snapped towards him under a furrowed brow.  “What?”</p><p>“Steve last night, Mike just now… you’ve lied to both of them…” Peripherally he saw Olsen’s face turn gradually towards the windshield again.  </p><p>“Yeah…” the older man said slowly, “yeah, I guess I did…”</p><p>Turning another corner, Devitt nodded, trying to hide his smile.  The remainder of their journey through the slowly filling streets continued without another word and the sedan turned into the small parking lot for official vehicles near the main entrance of St. Mary’s.  The other SFPD unmarked sedan did the same right behind them.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>The gurney was pulled into a small curtained room alongside an empty hospital bed and an ER doctor and nurse instantly appeared.  As one of the paramedics began to reel off Mike’s stats and vitals, emphasizing the slightly elevated temperature, the blanket he was wrapped in was unfolded and he was slid, gently but quickly, from one gurney to the other.  The young ER doctor, whose nametag read Gaither, nodded continuously as he absorbed the information.</p><p>The EMT’s voice halted slightly and the doctor glanced at him with a frown.  “He, ah, he was shot about 36 hours ago…”  The doctor froze momentarily, frowning.  The EMT continued.  “He was… confined by a woman who was administering to him.”  He reached into his pocket and took out two small vials of clear liquid, one of them half empty.  “She gave him at least three shots of this, in his upper right arm…”  The paramedic looked worried.</p><p>Continuing to frown, the doctor took the half-empty vial and looked at the label.  It was badly smudged, but he could make out the black letters Morphine Sulfate.  “Have it checkout out,” he mouthed at the EMT and the other young man nodded, taking the vials back.</p><p>“He was also hooked up to an IV,” the paramedic continued, nodding towards the obvious puncture mark on the back of Mike’s right hand, “but it wasn’t a working apparatus.”  He shrugged with a quick shake of his head.  </p><p>The nurse, who had reached for a large pair of Lister scissors, touched the doctor’s arm and pointed to the foot of the bed.  The nylon ropes around their patient’s ankles were visible and the doctor’s eyes snapped up, meeting those of the paramedic again, who nodded in confirmation, briefly closing his eyes and sighing sadly.</p><p>Gaither inhaled deeply then nodded at the nurse. He leaned over the gurney; Mike’s eyes were slightly open.  The doctor smiled.  “How are you doing, Lieutenant?” he asked rhetorically, his voice light and encouraging.  “You’re in good hands now, you’re going to be okay.”  His eyes flicked to the foot of the bed; the paramedic had a scalpel in his hand and was carefully working on the nylon rope around the cop’s right ankle.</p><p>Gaither smiled at Mike again.  “We’re gonna have to cut your clothes off, sir.  Sorry about that.”  He nodded at the nurse and, standing beside the EMT at the foot of the bed, she began with the left pant leg.  The injured detective managed a slight smile and nod; grinning, Gathier patted Mike’s right shoulder.  “You’re gonna feel a lot better real soon, Lieutenant, I promise…”</p><p># # # # #</p><p>The gurney had already disappeared into an examination room by the time the four cops strode into the waiting room then milled about, suddenly realizing that all they could do now was wait.  It was almost fifteen minutes later the paramedics reappeared with their empty gurney, on their way back to their vehicle and the remainder of their shift.</p><p>Leaving the gurney near the door, they approached the small group of detectives and reassured them that their colleague was in good hands and going to be fine.   The vials of clear liquid were produced.  Healey said he would get them to the lab, then headed to a payphone to make the call for a black-and-white to pick them up and take them to Forensics.</p><p>Haseejian volunteered to get everyone coffees, opting the leave the hospital for a nearby diner with ‘great joe’, as he put it, while the others sank wearily into waiting room chairs.</p><p>Olsen glanced at his watch then looked up.  Devitt was watching him with a soft smile.  “What?”</p><p>Clearing his throat, Devitt looked down, shaking his head.  “Nothing…” he said quietly, trying not to chuckle.  “It’s still a little early to go up and see Steve… I would think…” </p><p>Olsen’s stare turned into a glare.  After a beat, he sighed heavily.  “Well, it won’t hurt to go up and check… get this over with, I guess…”  As he stood slowly and wearily, Devitt looked up at him, the smile disappearing.  </p><p>“You’ll know what to say.”</p><p>Olsen froze for a beat then smiled gratefully with a brief nod.</p><p>“And then you gotta do me a favor, okay?”  Devitt stopped him with a hand on his forearm and unexpected gravity in his voice, and the older man looked down at him, frowning.  “Go home… for a few hours at least.  And get some sleep.  Mike won’t be ready for visitors for a few hours at least, and I can hold down the fort here while you get some rest…”  He shrugged with a gentle bobble of his head, removing his hand.  “And then you can come back and relieve me… okay?”</p><p>Olsen stared at him expressionlessly for several long seconds then he nodded.  “Yeah… I’ll do that.”  He reached out and patted his colleague on the shoulder before starting tiredly towards the elevators.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>Olsen slowly pushed the door open.  The nurse behind the counter had told him breakfast had been delivered about a half hour earlier, and that Inspector Keller was awake and alert.</p><p>The bed was partially raised.  A half-consumed pink smoothie was sitting on the rolling table over the bed.  Steve’s head was back, his eyes closed, but he opened them when he heard the door.</p><p>Olsen smiled warmly as he approached the bed, knowing his appearance at this hour of the morning would strike fear into the young man’s heart, something he didn’t want to do.  “I know, it’s early,” he said with a soft chuckle, raising his hands in mock supplication, “but I heard you were awake and I thought I’d stop in and see you.  How are you feeling?”  He tried to keep the shock out of his voice seeing the black eyes the young man was now sporting.</p><p>Keeping his head on the pillow, Steve’s brow furrowed deeply.  “What’s going on, Rudy?” he asked without preamble.  He knew something wasn’t right.  Olsen looked terrible, like he hadn’t slept, and he’d had an uneasy feeling since the two captains had paid him a visit the previous evening.</p><p>Clearing his throat uncomfortably, Olsen stared at his young colleague for a long silent second.  “I, ah, well, I wasn’t totally honest with you yesterday… about Mike.  I didn’t want you to worry…”</p><p>Steve didn’t say anything but he swallowed heavily, as if bracing himself.</p><p>“He’s okay,” Olsen continued quickly, “he’s, ah, he’s gonna be okay… but, well,” he paused and exhaled quickly, looking away then back at the bed.  “He was ambushed by… well, we don’t know who, when he was following up on an IA complaint.  He was shot in the left shoulder.  It’s not a bad wound, he’s gonna be fine, like I said…”  He paused again.  </p><p>Steve’s green eyes were boring into him unblinkingly; Mike’s partner knew there was more.</p><p>Olsen raised his eyebrows and shook his head slightly, looking bewildered.  “I, ah, I really don’t know how to explain this…”  He looked at Steve and shrugged helplessly.  “We couldn’t find him for almost two days…”</p><p>Steve’s eyes shot wide and a low strangled cry escaped from between his wired teeth.  Both hands clenched the blanket.</p><p>“He’s okay, he’s okay,” Olsen reassured again quickly, laying a strong, comforting hand on the younger man’s forearm.  “He’s here, at St. Mary’s.  We brought him in just now and they’re removing the bullet as we speak.  He’s going to be fine.”</p><p>“What happened?”  Steve was breathing heavily through his nose, his heart pounding.</p><p>“Ah,” the captain stalled, not wanting to get into the horrific details at the moment. “well, a neighbor woman and her son had taken him in and were looking after him…. She used to be a nurse.”  He shrugged.  “Ah, listen, ah, you don’t need to know all that right now… I promise I’ll tell you everything when you’re feeling better, okay…?”  He smiled warmly.  “I just wanted you to know… and apologize for not being completely honest with you yesterday.”</p><p>Steve stared at him, saying nothing, and Olsen wasn’t quite sure how the young man was reacting.  “Can I see him?” he asked finally.  Though the words were mumbled, they were easy to understand.</p><p>“Ah, well, not at the moment.  Like I said, they’re operating on him right now but, ah, well, maybe later.  I’m pretty sure he’s not going to be mobile for awhile so maybe, ah, maybe they’ll let me put you in a wheelchair and take you for a ride.  How does that sound?”</p><p>After a beat Steve nodded carefully, trying not to wince.</p><p>Olsen smiled again.  “He, ah, he was asking about you this morning…. Wondering why you weren’t with us…”  He paused again and raised his eyebrows.  “I, ah, I lied to him too.  I told him you were raiding a house somewhere else, trying to find him.”  He shrugged again with a dry chuckle.  “I think he believed me…. But I don’t think he’s gonna be too happy when he gets a look at you…”</p><p>Steve continued to stare but the older man couldn’t read the look.  After a couple of long silent seconds, he shrugged again.  “Ah, listen, would you like some company?  Roy, Norm and Dan are all downstairs, waiting to hear… well, you know…. I, ah, I can get one of them to come up and spend some time with you, if you want…?”</p><p>The younger man waited, unblinking, for several more seconds before he briefly closed his eyes and nodded almost imperceptibly.  “I’d like to see Roy…”</p><p>Relaxing slightly, Olsen let a warm smile curl his lips.  He reached out and patted Steve’s forearm again.  “I’ll, ah, I’ll let him know…”  He started to turn away then looked back.  “It’s gonna be okay, Steve… everything’s gonna be okay…”  With an encouraging nod, he crossed to the door, leaving the room without a backward glance.</p><p>Steve looked at the ceiling, his heart still pounding.  He tried to take a deep breath but the pain in his chest brought him up short.  He squeezed his eyes closed, breathing raggedly through his nose.</p><p>Could their lives get any worse, he wondered…</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0025"><h2>25. Chapter 25</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Olsen had tracked his colleagues down in the moderately busy Surgical Ward waiting room.  Haseejian saw him coming, picked a cardboard cup of coffee off the floor and held it out.</p><p>“Thanks,” the captain mumbled, stifling a yawn as he sat on the empty chair between Haseejian and Devitt, prying the lid off and taking a big sip.</p><p>“How is he?” Devitt asked.  </p><p>Olsen bobbled his head.  “Worried… but he’s okay.  He still looks like hell.”</p><p>“You told him the truth?”</p><p>Olsen took another sip of the very welcome coffee.  “Not all of it.  He doesn’t need to know all of it yet.”</p><p>Devitt nodded.  “Yeah, you’re probably right.  So, are you going to go home like you promised?”</p><p>Olsen smiled.  “After we hear about Mike…  Okay?”</p><p>Chuckling, Devitt nodded again.  “Okay.”</p><p>The older captain took another sip of his coffee.  “Oh, ah, almost forgot.  Steve asked to see you.”</p><p>Devitt frowned.  “Me?”  He managed to put a lot of trepidation into that one word.</p><p>“Yeah, you.  I told him you’d go up and keep him company.”</p><p>“You did?”</p><p>“Yeah.  He said he wanted to see you.”</p><p>“He did?”</p><p>Olsen froze, staring expressionlessly without blinking.</p><p>Devitt swallowed nervously.  “Ah, yeah, I’ll go up and see him… when we’ve heard about Mike…” he answered hesitantly, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the operating rooms.</p><p>Hiding behind his coffee cup, Olsen swallowed a smile.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>It was a little more than a half hour later when a young doctor wearing blue scrubs got their attention; as usual, it was easy to spot the cops in the waiting room.  All four gathered around him, dispensing with introductions.</p><p>“The lieutenant is going to be with us for a few days, but considering what he just went though, he’s doing fine and he’ll make a full recovery.  He’ll have a helluva scar but…”  The resident smiled reassuringly, then held up a small plastic bag with a slightly misshapen bullet.  Healey took it with a grateful nod.  “There was quite a bit of… extraneous damage done to his skin and the muscles just under the skin… I was told the person who was, ah… looking after him tried to remove this with a knife…”  He smiled grimly.  “The bullet was pretty deep but it didn’t hit anything important, thank goodness, and it was easy to get out.  But the wound is infected.  That’s what happens when an obviously unsterilized instrument is used, unsuccessfully, and the wound isn’t cleaned or dressed properly.  Fortunately, it’s a low-grade infection and we’ve already started him on antibiotics.  It should clear up without any complications but we’ll keep a close eye on him for the next couple of days.  And it seems he was injected a number of times in the upper right arm with an unknown substance, so we’ll be keeping an eye on that as well.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Healey interrupted with a quick nod.  “It’s on the way to our lab.”</p><p>“Hopefully it’s nothing more than water, but I’d appreciate it if you’d give us a call and let us know what it is as soon as you find out.  It will dictate how we go about treating him.”</p><p>“Of course,” Healey promised.</p><p>“Good.  He also has a sizeable contusion right at the back of his head,” he pointed to the same spot on his own head, “but it’s minor, he’s not showing any signs of concussion but, again, we’ll keep an eye on that as well.”  The doctor smiled, his eyes bouncing around the group.  “So, any questions?”</p><p>“When can we see him?” Haseejian managed to blurt out before the others.</p><p>“Well, he’s in Recovery right now and probably will be for the next hour or so till he’s awake, then we’ll give him something for the pain and move him to a room on the fourth floor.”  He shrugged.  “From what I hear, he’s had a pretty rough couple of days so depending on how awake and alert he is, well, you might be able to see him then, but no promises.”</p><p>“The fourth floor, hunh?” Olsen asked and the doctor nodded.  “Who, ah, who’s the person responsible for room assignments?”</p><p># # # # #</p><p>Devitt pushed the door open, stepping into the small room hesitantly, hoping to find the occupant asleep.  Steve was sitting up against the raised bedhead, staring at the door.</p><p>Pasting a big smile on his face, the captain strode with a confidence he didn’t feel towards the bed.  Steve looked even worse than he remembered; the bruise on his face was in full bloom and both his eyes were black circles.  He looked positively awful and Devitt couldn’t suppress the wince that briefly washed over his face.  “Oooo,” he commiserated, “that looks painful…. How do you feel?”</p><p>“I think it looks worse than it feels… but it doesn’t feel great,” Steve mumbled through his wired jaw.  “My ribs are worse…”</p><p>Devitt nodded sympathetically.  “So, ah -“</p><p>“How’s Mike?”</p><p>The captain started, surprised by the swiftness and near ferocity of the question.  “Ah, oh, well, ah, we just talked to the doctor and he’s gonna be fine.  They’re gonna want to keep him here for a couple of days but he’s doing good…”  He smiled encouragingly.  “That’s, ah, that’s one of the reasons I’m here.”</p><p>Steve’s brow furrowed.  </p><p>“He’s in Recovery right now but they’re gonna move him to a room soon and, well, Rudy pulled some strings… and evoked the spectres of the Chief and the Mayor, although I don’t think that was really necessary,” he chuckled, “and they’re going to move you into a double room with him.”  He paused to let the news sink in.  “Is that okay with you?” he asked with a smile and slight chuckle.</p><p>Steve didn’t exactly smile but the worried lines on his battered face softened somewhat.  He swallowed heavily.  “Does he know about me yet?” he asked softly.</p><p>His smile disappearing, Devitt shook his head. “No, not yet.  None of us have had a chance… and we probably won’t before he gets up here…”  He shrugged helplessly.  “Sorry…”</p><p>“It’s not your fault,” the younger man said quietly.  Devitt raised his eyebrows and bobbled his head slightly, looking down.  “Just like what happened to me wasn’t your fault either…”</p><p>The captain’s head snapped up, frowning.  </p><p>“I should’ve waited for you… to handcuff that guy.  He was bigger than me… and full of adrenaline…. I should’ve waited for you to get down to me, hold him at gunpoint… but I didn’t… and I’m paying the price for that, like I should be… not you…”</p><p>Devitt looked at him silently for a couple of seconds.  “Would you have waited for Mike?”</p><p>Steve frowned, not really sure what Devitt was asking.  “Probably not… and then it would be him standing here feeling guilty instead of you…”  He smiled as best he could.  “And I would still be lying here…”</p><p>Chuckling softly, Devitt relaxed, stuffing his hands in his pockets and shaking his head.  “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”</p><p>Steve’s smile faded.  “Roy, Rudy didn’t go into any details about what happened to Mike…”</p><p>Devitt looked at him soberly for several long seconds.  “What do you want to know?”</p><p>“Everything.”</p><p>Inhaling deeply, the captain took his hands out of his pockets and stepped closer to the bed.  Pushing the overbed table away, he sat on the edge.  “Well, It all started late Tuesday afternoon… about the same time that, well, that this happened,” he began carefully, gesturing at Steve and raising his eyebrows.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>The relaying of the events of the past two days wasn’t quite finished when a couple of orderlies arrived to move Steve’s bed down the corridor to a larger room.  Devitt gave them a hand, bringing Steve’s clothes and putting them in the small closet.  “This room has a bigger window,” he joked as he hung the tweed jacket, slipping the wool tie around the hook.  As he crossed back to the bed, he frowned.</p><p>“I know you’re probably not going to want to shave for a couple of days, but do you want me  or one of the guys to run past your place and get your razor, maybe some other stuff?”</p><p>Steve nodded carefully.  “That would be great.  I’ll make a list.  My keys are in my -“</p><p>“Jacket pocket, yeah, I felt them.”  Devitt looked at him with a wistful smile. “So, do you want me to continue?”</p><p>Frowning, disturbed by what he had already heard, the younger man nodded.</p><p>“Okay.”  Devitt sat on the edge of the bed again; it was easier for Steve to see him and, though he was trying not to show it, Mike’s determined partner was in a lot of pain.</p><p>Devitt was still sitting on the bed when the door was pushed open and a nurse set the doorstop then, pulling an IV pole and holding an IV bag aloft, backed into the room, followed by a hospital bed guided by two orderlies.  The cops watched silently as the bed was maneuvered into position under the head panel and the wheels locked.  The nurse set the IV pole close to the wall on the right side of the bed and hung the bag, leaned over the patient for a couple of seconds then, with a look and quick smile at the other two men in the room, flipped the doorstop up with her foot and let the door close behind her.</p><p>Devitt glanced at Steve; Mike’s bed was raised only slightly and he knew the younger man couldn’t actually see his partner very well from where he was lying.  He got to his feet and moved closer to Mike’s bed, stared at it for a couple of long seconds then retreated and sat again.  He shrugged almost apologetically.  “He’s out… like really out.  He needs the rest though, believe me.”</p><p>Steve nodded as the captain smothered a yawn.  The younger man almost smiled.  “I think you do too,” he said softly and Devitt looked at him sheepishly.  “I’m okay,” he continued, his eyes drifting towards Mike’s bed, “we’re okay….”</p><p>Devitt looked at the other bed as well.  “Listen, ah, don’t you want me to tell him -?“</p><p>“I’ll tell him,” Steve interrupted quietly.  “When he wakes up, I’ll tell him.”</p><p>Frowning, Devitt stared at the younger man; he looked skeptical.  “Don’t forget he doesn’t know you’re in here, let alone that you got hurt.  It’ll scare the hell out of him if he hears your voice but he can’t see you.  You really want to do that to him?”</p><p>“Don’t worry,” Steve said softly, “I won’t do that to him. I promise.”</p><p>Devitt stared for another long second then nodded once.  “Okay,” he whispered, patting the younger man’s leg as he got to his feet, trying to suppress another yawn.  “It has been a hell of long day,” he chuckled quietly, “almost thirty straight hours now, I guess…”  He glanced at the other bed then fixed Steve with a sad but warm smile.  “I’ll, ah, I’ll see both of you tomorrow.”</p><p>With a valiant attempt at a warm smile of his own, Steve nodded.  Devitt stepped to Mike’s bed, watched his sleeping colleague for several very long seconds then crossed to the door, glancing back at Steve with a wink before he left.</p><p>Steve looked across at the other bed.  He could see the blanket over his partner’s body and a bit of the left side of his head but the rails were up and he could see nothing else.  He laid his head back on the pillow; he was very tired.  Talking to Devitt had taken a lot out of him, physically as well as emotionally.  He almost couldn’t believe the hell his partner had been through, how terrifying it must have been to be wounded, alone and in the hands of a psychotic woman and her slow-witted son.</p><p>It seemed almost impossible what they had both been through these past two days.  Hell, it seemed that since they had caught the Goodman murders things just kept getting worse and worse for the two of them, like they were cursed.  And, as far as Mike was concerned, the Goodman case wasn’t finished, and it wouldn’t be until he he could prove that Jane Goodman had not killed her husband, her son and herself.</p><p>He closed his eyes, taking as deep a breath as he dared.  He could feel the tears welling up behind his lids and he willed himself not to cry; with his jaw wired shut he couldn’t afford to let his nose get stuffed.  It would only make things even more miserable.</p><p>He chuckled to himself, surprised by the ludicrousness of the situation; and the fact that he knew Mike would find it amusing as well brought a smile to his distorted face.  He turned his head on the pillow, looking at the other bed, a warmth spreading over him.</p><p>They may be battered, bruised and wounded, but they were together again, and nothing was better than that.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0026"><h2>26. Chapter 26</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The elevator doors opened and Healey and Haseejian stepped out, almost bumping into Devitt.</p><p>“Where are you two going?” the captain asked with a chuckle.</p><p>Haseejian frowned.  “Ah, to see Mike… and Steve.  They told us they moved him.”</p><p>“Ah, yeah… uhm, I think we should leave them alone right now,” Devitt said slowly, gathering them closer with a tilt of his head.  “They just moved Mike in and he’s asleep… and Steve’s still gotta explain why he looks the way he does when Mike wakes up…”</p><p>Haseejian snorted dryly, looking down, and Healey nodded slowly.  “Jeez, yeah, that’s… ah… that’s not gonna be easy, is it…?”</p><p>With a grim, tight-lipped smile, Devitt shook his head.  “So, listen, ah, why don’t we all go home and get some sleep and then we can figure out when we should come back, like probably tomorrow…?”</p><p>Haseejian nodded.  “Yeah, that sounds like a great idea.”  He pushed the DOWN button.  </p><p>Healey was staring down the hall; he looked at the others.  “I’ll head over to the lab.  I want to find out what was in those vials Mike got injected with… and I want to see if there’s a match for that bullet.”  When the others looked at him with concerned frowns, he snorted with a wry smile.  “I hear sleep is overrated…” he chuckled as the elevator doors opened.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>They had brought his lunch, another smoothie, this one grape-flavoured, an hour ago and this time he finished it.  He had been lying with his head turned towards the other bed, on alert for any sign that Mike was waking, but so far there had been no movement at all.</p><p>He turned to face the ceiling and carefully arched his back, trying to work out the kinks across his shoulders.  His entire body felt like one big bruise and he could only imagine what he looked like.</p><p>Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and held it, starting very slowly to move his legs to the left and off the edge of the bed.  His lower legs dangling, he rolled slowly onto his left side, his broken ribs starting to protest loudly.  Holding another breath, his right hand wrapped around his chest and supporting the tensor bandages, he lifted himself onto his left elbow, pausing to take a quick gasping breath.  Steadying himself, laying his left hand flat on the bed, he straightened his arm very slowly until his was sitting up.</p><p>Breathing rapidly through his nose, trying to get a grip on the pain in his chest and his jaw that was making him slightly lightheaded, he looked at the other bed.  Mike hadn’t stirred.  </p><p>It was almost a minute before he felt he could move again.  As he started to shift himself slowly, in tiny increments, to the edge of the bed, he looked at the door.  All he’d need now, he thought, would be some doctor or nurse to pay one of them a visit and the jig would be up.  He wasn’t supposed to get out of bed alone under any circumstance, even to go to the bathroom.  Thankfully, the door remained closed.</p><p>He closed his eyes, steeling himself for the impact he knew would take his breath away when he slid off the bed and his feet hit the floor.  Placing both palms on the bed to hopefully slow his descent, he managed to control his slide and, almost before he realized it, he was standing up.  Exhaling heavily, he smiled in relief, leaning against the bed to steady himself, looking at the other bed again.  Still no movement.</p><p>Gathering himself, once again wrapping his right arm around his chest, he took a couple of small steps to a white plastic chair that was pushed up against the foot of his own bed and dragged it as quietly as he could towards Mike’s bed.  He knew his partner wouldn’t be able to see him if he was sitting down but he’d use it until the older man woke up.  At least that was his intention.</p><p>He pulled the chair to where he wanted it then, holding the siderail with both hands for support, took some time to really look at the man in the bed.  He hadn’t seen his partner since before all this had begun.  </p><p>Even in sleep, the lines of pain were still etched into Mike’s beard-stubbled face.  The beige flannelette blanket was pulled up to his mid-chest; a light blue patterned hospital gown, similar to one Steve was wearing under a light blue robe, was draped over him but the edge of the large gauze dressing taped over the wound on his left shoulder was visible.  His right arm was resting on top of the blanket, the IV line in the back of his hand.</p><p>The urge to reach out and touch his partner was almost overwhelming but he didn’t want to wake him prematurely.  He had just managed to sink carefully into the chair when the door behind him opened and there was a long beat of silence before a mature female voice said sternly, “Mr. Keller, what are you doing out of bed?”</p><p>Snapping his eyes shut and wincing, but not from pain this time, Steve started to turn his head but he heard the door close and several quick footsteps and knew the nurse was crossing towards him.</p><p>Glancing at the still sleeping figure in the bed, she turned towards him, her brows fiercely knit under the white cap.  When their eyes met, her eyebrows rose, like a mother expecting an answer from a recalcitrant child.</p><p>“I, ah, I want to be here for him when he wakes up,” he explained quietly.</p><p>She continued to stare for a couple of very uncomfortable seconds before saying softly, “Then you should have pushed the button to call me and I would’ve helped you.”  She smiled warmly.</p><p>It took him a beat or two to realize he wasn’t being chastised, then he dropped his head and smiled.  </p><p>“You didn’t hurt yourself, did you?” she asked, concerned.</p><p>He shook his head.  She smiled and turned to the bed again, giving Mike a closer look.  He frowned, trying to sit up a little higher.  “Is he okay?”</p><p>She smiled, turning to look at him and nodding.  “He’s fine.  Your timing is perfect, by the way; he should be waking up soon.  Do you want me to drop the siderail?”  When he nodded, she reached for the release and lowered it.  “You’re partners?”</p><p>Steve nodded.  “Yeah?”</p><p>“For how long?”</p><p>“Four years.”</p><p>“Well, from the looks of it, you’ll be getting the chance to add to those years.  You’ve both been very lucky it seems.”</p><p>Steve nodded again, unable to speak past the sudden lump in his throat.  </p><p>Her smile got wider.  She nodded towards the bed.  “He might be a little hungry when he wakes up.  If he is, just push the button.  Until then, I’ll make sure you’re left alone.  Would you like that?”</p><p>His eyes brightened and he smiled.  “Thank you,” he said quietly.</p><p>Still grinning, she took a step away then stopped, looking at him again and cocking her head.  “Does he know about…?”  She gestured at his face, her brow furrowed.</p><p>Looking guilty, Steve shook his head.</p><p>“Oh…. Well, good luck,” she said warmly as she headed for the door.  “Press the call button if you need anything.”  She punctuated her order with raised eyebrows and a no-nonsense stare as she opened the door.</p><p>As he heard it closed, he sighed and closed his eyes briefly in relief.  Then he looked once more at the sleeping man on the bed and frowned; one the one hand, he really wanted Mike to wake up soon, but on the other…</p><p># # # # #</p><p>“Jeez, when was the last time you slept?” Charlie smiled with a deep chuckle as the weary-looking detective walked slowly into the lab.</p><p>“Yeah, I know,” Healey growled as he rubbed a hand over his eyes then covered a yawn as he approached the Forensics chief at his desk.  “To be honest I can’t remember.”  They both chuckled.</p><p>“Hey, eh, I hear congratulations are in order.  You guys did some yeoman work there, getting Mike back.  How’s he doin’?”</p><p>“Well, he took a round to the shoulder… and he had to endure some, ah, well, unorthodox medical attention… but he should be okay they’re telling us… in time…”</p><p>Charlie was nodding gravely.  He’d always liked and admired the Homicide lieutenant and was truly interested in his welfare.  “Well, ah, I think I can add another piece of good news to his story.”  He reached across the desk, picked up a small manila envelop and handed it to the sergeant.</p><p>Healey looked in the envelope; it was the small vials.</p><p>“It’s distilled water.  There’s still a trace of the morphine sulfate mixed in, but it wouldn’t have been enough to give him any pain relief, that’s for sure.  It wouldn’t have done him any harm either but you might want to let his doctors know.”</p><p>The cop exhaled loudly.  “Well, that’s a relief.  Anything on the bullet yet?”</p><p>Charlie shook his head.  “Colin’s handling it.  It’s from a .38 but that’s all I know right now.  We’ll let you know as soon as we know more.”</p><p>Healey nodded.  “Okay, thanks.  I better go give the hospital a call.”  He turned and started for the door, the envelope still in his hand.  “Thanks for this!” </p><p>“You’re welcome!” Charlie yelled after him.  “And get some sleep!”</p><p># # # # #</p><p>Steve had been watching the sleeping man for several long minutes, letting his mind wander back through the years he’d been in Homicide and the scrapes he and his partner had gotten into during that time.  This was definitely the worst, he thought with a heavy sigh.</p><p>Trying not to wince, he lifted his right arm and laid it on the bed, close to Mike’s, still hesitant to touch his wounded partner and wake him up.  Then, making up his mind, he reached out to pick up the older man’s hand and stopped; there was a small linear bruise across the bone on the outside of Mike’s wrist.  Steve closed his eyes and took a deep, angry breath, ignoring the pain in his ribs; he knew it was from the handcuff Devitt had told him about.</p><p>He opened his eyes and sighed softly, then slipped his hand under Mike’s and closed his fingers.</p><p>His eyes still shut, Mike’s head moved against the pillow and his fingers curled slightly around the younger man’s hand.  He settled for a couple of seconds then his head moved again and his legs shifted slightly; he was fighting against the painkiller, the infection and the lingering effects of the anesthetic.  Steve held his breath, waiting for the blue eyes to open, wondering how long he would have until Mike realized all was not well with his young partner.  He tightened his grip on the older man’s hand and felt the pressure returned.  </p><p>Mike took a couple of deep breaths and a soft smile began to curl his lips.  His eyes still closed, he whispered, “Steve…?” and felt his right hand being gently shaken.  He squeezed back.</p><p>“Yeah,” came the soft reply, “yeah, it’s me…”</p><p>He was very tired and sluggish, his head ached and there was a dull pain in his left shoulder, but there was something in those few words that alarmed him.  He opened his eyes, trying to focus on the familiar face staring at him worriedly.  </p><p>Steve watched as the blue eyes struggled to concentrate on his face; he smiled as best he could.  It took several seconds for Mike’s vision to coalesce then his eyes widened in surprise and his right hand tightened even more.</p><p>Smiling, trying not to let the pain show, Steve got slowly to his feet and leaned over the bed, Mike’s eyes riveted to his face.  The older man’s brows were knit with shock and worry and he started to breath heavily through his open mouth.</p><p>“I’m okay,” Steve reassured quickly, “I’m okay…”</p><p>Mike shook his head slightly.  “No… you’re not…”</p><p>Steve pulled his hand out of Mike’s grasp and laid it comfortingly on his chest.  “Relax… okay…?  Just relax… I’m okay, I promise…”  He smiled encouragingly, staring into the anxious blue eyes.</p><p>Mike raised his right hand and gently touched his partner’s battered face, his worried frown deepening.  “What the hell happened?” he asked almost breathlessly, his own ordeal forgotten.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0027"><h2>27. Chapter 27</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I’m okay,” Steve repeated, the smile over the wired teeth looking almost more scary than comforting.</p><p>Mike patted Steve’s cheek gently.  “You keep saying that but I want to know what happened.”</p><p>Steve shook his head in feigned frustration, chuckling softly.  “I’ll tell you, I promise, but I want to know how you’re feeling first… okay?”</p><p>After a long beat and a pointed exhale, Mike let his hand drop to the bed with a wince then rolled his right shoulder, flexing his elbow.</p><p>“What’s wrong?” the younger man asked quickly.</p><p>His face still contorted, Mike shook his head.  “My bicep’s sore, like I pulled something…”</p><p>“That’s probably from those shots she gave you.”</p><p>The older man froze, his eyes snapping to his partner’s bruised face.  “You know about those?  How do you know about those?”</p><p>Steve bobbled his eyebrows and chuckled softly.  </p><p>“Who told you, Roy or Rudy?”</p><p>“Both of them really…”  When Mike’s brow furrowed, he rolled his eyes.  “I’ll explain in more detail later, okay?  Right now I just want to know how you’re feeling?”</p><p>Pausing, the older man looked down at himself, as if taking stock.  “Well, other than my sore arm and the hole in my shoulder, not bad really,” he chuckled softly.  Then, wincing slightly, he raised his right hand and ran it over his face, feeling the stubble.  “I’ve got a headache too but it’s not bad.”</p><p>“Are you hungry?”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Hungry?  Are you hungry?  One of the nurses told me to call her if you were hungry.”</p><p>Mike looked a little surprised.  “Oh… well, I don’t know… I guess…”</p><p>“Well, when was the last time you ate?”</p><p>“I have no idea.”</p><p>“Then I think you should eat.”  Trying not to grimace, Steve started to turn towards his own bed.</p><p>“Where are you going?” Mike stopped him sharply.</p><p>“The call button -“</p><p>“I’ve got one right here.”  Mike patted the bed with his left hand.  Steve looked then, with a held breath, reached over and picked it up, pressing the button.  Mike’s worried eyes were following his every move as he dropped the button back on the bed and straightened up.  “If you raise the bed, then you can sit and I’ll still be able to see you.”  He knew the young man was trying to mask the pain.</p><p>With as warm a smile as he could muster, Steve was reaching for the bed controller when the door opened and the nurse that had been in earlier strode into the room.  “So, you’re awake, Mr. Stone,” she announced brightly as she crossed to the head of the bed, smiling at Steve.  She saw the controller in the younger man’s grasp.  “Here, I can do that,” she said smoothly, taking it out of his hand before turning her attention to the man in the bed.  “How high do you want it, Mr. Stone?”</p><p>“Mike, please, call me Mike,” he smiled then nodded at Steve.  “High enough so I can see him when he’s sitting down.”</p><p>She smiled.  “Nice to meet you Mike.  I’m Betty.”  She glanced at Steve as she started to raise the bed.</p><p>He was lowering himself carefully into the chair.  Safely down, releasing the breath he was holding, he looked up at her and smiled as best he could.  “And I’m Steve.”</p><p>She grinned.  “Steve… and Mike.”  She nodded to herself as she released the button on the controller.  “How’s that, Mike?  High enough.”</p><p>“Perfect, thank you,” he said, staring at Steve and smiling.  “I want him comfortable when he tells me about that broken jaw of his.”</p><p>“And his broken ribs,” she said pointedly, looking from one partner to the other.  The older one’s brow furrowed suddenly and deeply, and the smile disappeared.  The younger one glared at her with widened eyes, looking slightly peeved.  She stared at him like a mother once again.  “He was going to find out sooner or later, wasn’t he?  I just saved you both the trouble.”  She held the young man’s stare for a long beat before he closed his eyes and dropped his head in defeat.</p><p>Betty looked at Mike and they shared a parental smile.  </p><p>“So how are you feeling, Mike?  Are you able to handle the pain right now?”</p><p>He nodded.  “Yeah, I’m okay, thanks.”</p><p>“Would you like something to eat?  You must be hungry, I would think.”</p><p>Mike bobbled his head slightly.  “A little bit, I guess.”</p><p>“How about some soup?  I think they have tomato today.”</p><p>“That sounds great, thanks.”</p><p>“Then soup it is.”  She looked at Steve, who was still looking down, a slight frown on his handsome young face, as if he was miles away.  “Can I get you something?”</p><p>His head came up.  “Am I allowed to have coffee?”</p><p>“You sure are.  Cream and sugar?”</p><p>“Just a bit of each, please.”</p><p>With a smile at them both, she headed to the door.  “I’ll have it sent up.”  She turned back briefly at the door.  “I don’t want either of you to overdo it now, okay?” she winked as she left the room.</p><p>Mike eyes lingered on the door.  “Wow,” he said dryly, shaking his head slightly, “she’s a lot different from the last ‘nurse’ I had.”  He looked at Steve, his eyes widening.</p><p>The smile Steve returned was troubled.  “Yeah, that’s what I heard…”</p><p>Mike cocked his head and snorted softly.  He exhaled loudly.  “Yeah… ah, so, ah,” his eyes narrowed and a worried look settled over his features.  “So what happened?” he asked softly, gesturing at his partner’s battered face with his chin.  “Who did that to you?”</p><p>Steve inhaled deeply though his nose.  “Roy and I were over in Noe Valley, to interview a suspect in that, ah, that lawyer case I told you about.  We’d found a witness who saw a yellow Camaro coming out of the alley where the body was found and we got a list of yellow Camaros in town and one seemed to fit the bill.”  He paused.  It was hard talking around his wired jaw and he needed to take a short break.  </p><p>Mike patted the bed a couple of times with his right hand, getting the young man’s attention, and he smiled.  “Slow down and take your time… I’m not going anywhere, remember…”</p><p>Steve smiled and nodded.  “Anyway, ah, we did what you and I usually do - he went to the apartment door and I went into the back alley in case he made a run for it.”  He shrugged resignedly, his eyebrows raised.</p><p>“And he did, I take it…”</p><p>“Yeah.  He turned out to be a big guy, like somebody who works out a lot.  I got the drop on him when he jumped out the window and got him to his knees.  And, ah, and that’s when I made a mistake…”  He looked at his partner sheepishly.</p><p>“You didn’t wait for Roy…”</p><p>Steve closed his eyes briefly, nodding solemnly.  </p><p>“He sure did a number on you…  How many ribs did he break?”</p><p>“Uh… three.”  He made a conscious decision not to mention anything about the collapsed lung; if Mike never learned about that, so much the better.</p><p>Mike grimaced, catching his breath.  He released it slowly before he asked, “And he broke your jaw too?”  </p><p>There was a another small nod.  “I, ah, I’m pretty sure he had martial arts training…. But I think I was lucky, Mike… he could’ve killed me if he wanted to, I’m pretty sure of that…”</p><p>Mike swallowed heavily.  “What, ah, what stopped him?”</p><p>“Roy managed to get into the apartment and he called my name when he looked out the window.  The guy just high-tailed it.”</p><p>“Has he been caught?”</p><p>Steve shook his head carefully.  “No, not yet… as far as I know…”</p><p>“Okay…” Mike whispered almost to himself, his gaze unfocusing as the enormity of what could have happened washed over him.  Steve watched silently for several long seconds before slowly lifting his right arm and patting his partner’s leg comfortingly.  The older man met his eyes and smiled slightly, nodding.</p><p>“Do, ah…,” Mike started softly, “do you know if they caught whoever shot me?”</p><p>Steve shook his head.  “Not that I know of… at least not as of this morning.”  Mike nodded, looking away again and Steve took a beat.  “You were shot through the door?”</p><p>Raising his eyebrows and inhaling deeply, Mike looked at him again.  “Yeah, after the second time I knocked…. I’d just yelled that I was the police and…”  He started to shrug then stopped himself, wincing slightly.  He snorted mirthlessly.  Then, after a beat, a tiny smiled curled his lips.  “I really hope it wasn’t the cat lady…”  He started to chuckle, then stopped, closing his eyes, biting his bottom lip and raising his right hand to gently press against the bandage on his left shoulder.  When he finally opened his eyes, Steve was staring at him with a soft smile, shaking his head affectionately.</p><p>“It wasn’t, by the way,” Steve said with a gentle chuckle of his own.  “The cat lady?  It wasn’t her.  She’d moved to an apartment on a lower floor.  Somebody was squatting in her empty apartment.”</p><p>Mike had frowned, tilting his head.  “She moved?  That would’ve been nice to know…”</p><p>“Well, according to Roy, she did let someone know, but she did it while you were on the way to her place…” He shrugged.  “Bad timing…”</p><p>“Boy, you can say that again.”  Mike shook his head with another soft snort.  “Say, ah, I think I remember Rudy telling me this morning… it was this morning, right?”</p><p>Steve nodded quickly, smiling.</p><p>“Yeah, ah, telling me this morning that the reason you weren’t with them, when they found me, was that you were raiding some other house with Lee and Bill….  so…. he lied to me…”  He pursed his lips, looking at his partner enigmatically, but Steve could see the wheels turning.</p><p>He nodded slowly.  “Yeah, he lied to me too.”</p><p>Mike brows knit.</p><p>“Yesterday he told me the reason you weren’t coming to see me was you were in Seattle following up on an IA case…”</p><p>“He did, did he?”  Mike smiled calculatingly.  “Well, I think we might be able to use that to our advantage at some point in the future…. don’t you?”</p><p>“Absolutely,” the young man smiled.</p><p>Grinning, Mike let his head fall back on the pillow and he stared at the ceiling for several long seconds before raising his head slightly again.  The smile was gone and a seriousness emanated from every feature.  He looked directly into the younger man’s eyes.  “You sure you’re okay… you’re gonna be okay?” he asked quietly but firmly.</p><p>His mouth a taut line and his brow slightly furrowed, moving slowly Steve reached out and gently patted the older man’s leg again.  He nodded comfortingly.  “Yeah… I’m gonna be just fine.”  He took a deep breath, continuing to hold the look.  “You?”</p><p>A tiny smile curled Mike’s lips again and he briefly closed his eyes, nodding softly.  “Me too.”  He felt Steve pat his leg again.  With a gentle chuckle he dropped his head to the pillow once more and took a deep breath.  He could feel the comforting weight of his partner’s hand on his leg and he was more grateful for the physical connection than he knew how to put into words.</p><p>Eventually he lowered his eyes; Steve was staring at him with a warm smile and he cleared his throat self-consciously.  “Ah, you know what all this means, right?” he asked in mock seriousness with a smile in his voice, pointing back and forth between them with the index finger of his right hand.</p><p>Steve’s smile got a little bigger in anticipation.  “No, what?”</p><p>Mike grinned.  “I think it means we don’t do too well when we’re separated… wouldn’t you agree?  And I think it means that we’re supposed to stay together…”  He shrugged as best he could, mindful of his shoulder, not taking his eyes from his partner.</p><p>His smile reaching his blackened eyes, Steve chuckled.  “I think you’re absolutely right.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0028"><h2>28. Chapter 28</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The door was pushed open very quietly and there was the muted sound of footsteps, a door closing… and then nothing.  Frowning, Steve opened his eyes.  Olsen and Devitt were standing just inside the door, looking back and forth between the two beds as if trying to decide whether to stay or leave.</p><p>It was Devitt who noticed the open eyes first and he started quietly towards the bed on the left, breaking into a smile.  “How are you feeling?” he whispered, glancing at the other bed as he stopped, Olsen joining him with almost comically exaggerated soft steps.</p><p>The younger man picked up the controller to raise the bed, staring across at the other; Mike was obviously deeply asleep, his head turned away on the half-raised bed.  As he rose into a sitting position, he glanced at Devitt then looked pointedly at the closed curtain between the two beds.</p><p>With a nod, Devitt pulled the light blue curtain around Mike’s bed as Olsen took a step closer.  “So, ah, how are you doing?” he asked, keeping his voice low.</p><p>When Devitt rejoined them, Steve smiled and nodded.  “A little better, thanks.”</p><p>Devitt nodded over his shoulder.  “How’s he doing?”</p><p>“Good.  The infection doesn’t seem to be getting any better and it’s making him tired, but the doctors changed the antibiotic late last night so… fingers crossed…”</p><p>Both captains frowned, obviously worried.</p><p>“Did they tell you when you could get out?” Olsen asked.</p><p>“Ah, they’re saying in a couple of days, so we’ll see.”  He smiled reassuringly.  “You two look better.”</p><p>Glancing at each other self-consciously, they smiled.  “Yeah, ah, everybody finally got some sleep,” Devitt chuckled quietly.  “Listen, ah, we got some information on both your cases.  Now, neither of them have been solved yet, mind you,” he continued quickly, raising both hands, “but, well, it’s a start.”</p><p>“Okay,” Steve said quietly, relaxing back against the pillows.  He gestured with his chin.  “Why don’t you sit down.”</p><p>Olsen dragged the white plastic chair closer while Devitt perched on the side of the bed.  “So, Palmieri… your favorite felon…?”  Devitt swallowed a smile as Steve’s eyes narrowed.  “He’s still in the wind but a black-and-white spotted the Camaro down in Daly City.  They’ve got an unmarked sitting on it but so far he hasn’t shown.”</p><p>“That sounds promising…”  Steve bobbled his head slightly.</p><p>Devitt shrugged.</p><p>“And Mike’s case?”</p><p>Olsen leaned forward in the chair.  “Well, we have prints but we haven’t got a name yet… he’s not in the system.  But we do have a description.”</p><p>Steve’s eyebrows shot up.  “A description?”  He knew it hadn’t come from Mike; had someone in the apartment building witnessed the shooting, he wondered.</p><p>Both captains nodded.  “Yeah.  That bullet they took out of Mike yesterday?  Well, seems it was a match for a slug they pulled out of the a bodega clerk three days ago, six blocks from the apartment building.”</p><p>Steve frowned.  “Three days ago…. The same day Mike was shot?”</p><p>Again both captains nodded.  “Yeah,” Olsen continued.  “What we think is, whoever had that gun robbed the bodega in the morning - not killing the clerk, by the way, but damn close - then hid out in the squat, and when Mike knocked on the door and identified himself as a cop, well…”</p><p>A silence settled over them as they let Steve weigh the implications.  “Sonuvabitch…” he finally breathed, staring down at the blanket covering his legs.  He looked up.  “You said you have a description?”</p><p>“Umh-humh,” Devitt nodded.  “Somebody saw the shooter leaving the bodega and running down the street.  It’s not a great description but it’s better than nothing.  We’ve got an APB out but it’ll be a longshot without a name.  We, ah, we might have to wait until the gun gets used again, god forbid…”</p><p>“Is that Roy?” came a familiar voice from behind the closed curtain and they looked at each other.  </p><p>Olsen got up and pulled the curtain from around the second bed; Mike was staring in their direction.  He was smiling, but both captains were alarmed by how he looked.  He still hadn’t shaved, and his eyes were bloodshot.  And even though he had just woken up, it looked as if he hadn’t slept in days.</p><p>Olsen stepped close to the bed, reaching out to take his old friend’s right hand and squeeze.  “How are you feeling, Mike?”</p><p>Glancing at Steve, his smile getting a little bigger, the lieutenant cleared his throat.  “A lot better than last night, actually.”  He looked at his partner again.  “I think the new antibiotic might be starting to work.”</p><p>“Damn woman,” Olsen muttered under his breath, giving Mike’s hand another squeeze before letting it go.</p><p>“Did I hear you have a lead on who shot me?” Mike asked Devitt.  </p><p>The grey-haired captain nodded.  “Yeah.”  He told Mike what he’d just told Steve.  When he finished, a hush fell over the room as everyone waited for Mike to respond.  He was looking straight ahead, staring at nothing, then he slowly turned towards his partner and a slight smile lit his face again.  “Talk about being in the wrong place at the wrong time…”  He snorted dryly then looked at both captains.  “I’m just glad he didn’t shoot twice.”  His gallows humour was not totally unexpected, and the other smiled softly.  He raised his eyebrows.  “So, ah, what’s going on with Carole and, ah… Oliver?” he asked, briefly groping for the name.</p><p>“Oh, ah,” Olsen growled, shaking his head, “they were arraigned earlier this morning.  Both of them for kidnapping and forceable confinement, and she was charged with practicing medicine without a license.  They’ve been remanded without bail and they’ve been sent off for psychiatric evaluations.”</p><p>“Are the charges going to stick this time?” Steve asked, and three sets of eyes turned in his direction.  </p><p>Devitt shook his head almost angrily.  “If I have something to say about it they will.”</p><p>Mike frowned.  “This time?”</p><p>After glancing at Devitt, Steve looked at his partner, realizing he knew more about the Websters than Mike did.  “I’ll tell you about later.”</p><p>Frowning, Mike pursed his lips and bobbled his head slightly.  “Okay…”  Then, as if realizing the mood in the room was getting way too serious, he raised his eyebrows and looked at the other bed.  “So did I miss breakfast?”</p><p>Smiling, the younger man nodded.  “Yeah, they came by about two hours ago.  They didn’t want to wake you.”</p><p>Mike nodded.  “What flavour this time?”</p><p>“Cherry.”</p><p>Chuckling, the lieutenant looked at the confused captains.  “His smoothie.  That’s pretty well all he’s allowed to eat right now.”</p><p>Two pairs of commiserating eyes turned in the younger man’s direction.  He shrugged.</p><p>“Well, at least the two of you are getting better, slowly but surely,” Olsen tried to sound encouraging.  “Listen, ah, we’ll get out of your hair, we just came by to see how you’re doing and let you know about the progress… or lack thereof… in your cases.  If anything else comes up, we’ll let you know.”  He had started to wander towards the door.</p><p>Devitt looked from one bed to the other; the partners could tell he was still feeling a bit of unnecessary guilt.  He smiled at them both.  “Get well fast and get back to work soon, both of you, okay…?”  </p><p>“We will,” Steve smiled, somehow knowing the grey-haired captain wanted to give the small office in Homicide back to the man whose name was on the door.</p><p>“Thanks for coming by,” Mike grinned as the door closed behind their fellow detectives.  He looked across at the other bed and shook his head, chuckling.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>An orderly had managed to scrounge up a newspaper and Steve spent most of the afternoon reading the articles aloud, as best his could, while Mike drifted in and out of sleep.  It was late afternoon when a nurse entered the room and, with a smile in Steve’s direction, crossed to the head of Mike’s bed and leaned over.  “Mr. Stone?” he heard her say.  </p><p>There were a few long seconds of silence before he heard her call his name again and it looked, disturbingly, like she was shaking him lightly.   She turned, pulled the curtain closed between the two beds, then hurried from the room.</p><p>Stunned, almost unable to breath and swallowing unconsciously, Steve’s worried eyes snapped from the door to the closed curtain.  He dropped the paper to the floor and pulled the blanket off, holding his breath and starting to slid to the edge of the bed.</p><p>The door slammed open again and the same nurse and a doctor hurried into the room.  Steve froze, straining to hear what was going on; he could hear what sounded like urgent commands but couldn’t make out specific words.  The nurse crossed to the door again and exited quickly then seconds later reappeared with an orderly.</p><p>He heard the locks on the wheels of the hospital bed snap and, as the nurse held the door open, the orderly and the doctor wheeled the bed towards the door.  As it appeared beyond the curtain, all Steve could see was Mike’s limp right hand dangling over the edge; the orderly lifted Mike’s forearm and laid it on the bed.  As the small procession cleared the door and turned down the corridor, the nurse followed. </p><p>The heavy wooden door closed softly and slowly, and Steve was alone, his heart pounding and his entire body shaking.  He looked at the closed door, suddenly not sure what to do.  The pain in his ribs was almost overwhelming and was having a hard time taking a breath.  He laid back down, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to suck air in through his wired teeth.</p><p>Finally able to take a deeper breath, he reached for the call button and pushed.  It seemed to take forever for the door to open and a young nurse he didn’t recognize approached the bed.  She smiled.  “What do you need, Mr. Keller?”</p><p>The obviously worried and pain-filled green eyes bored into her.  He pointed to his left where the other bed had been.  “Do you know what’s going on with Lieutenant Stone?” he hissed through his teeth, ignoring the pain in his jaw.</p><p>She glanced at the empty bay, her smile still in place when she looked back at him.  “No, I’m sorry, I don’t.  I just came on.  I’ll try to find out for you, if you’d like?”</p><p>Unable to find his voice, he nodded. </p><p>“Of course.”  She turned towards the door.</p><p>“Uh… Nurse Betty,” he said as loudly as he could, and she looked back, “is, ah, is she on duty?”</p><p>“Betty Turner?  No, sorry, today’s her day off.  She’s in tomorrow though, day shift.”</p><p>Swallowing heavily again, he nodded, still trying to get his pounding heart to slow down.  After she left, he let his head drop back onto the pillow and stared at the ceiling, breathing rapidly through the wires holding his jaws together, his chest heaving.</p><p>Why hadn’t he noticed Mike was in trouble?  Why hadn’t he realized, when Mike’d stopped commenting on the news articles he’d been reading, that something wasn’t right?</p><p>He squeezed his eyes shut, trying not to cry. There was no one he could call, no one he could share his fear with.  He turned his head to stare at the curtain hiding the now empty space where his partner had been just a few minutes before.</p><p>The door opened and the young nurse, wearing a grotesquely inappropriate smile, approached his bed.  “Mr. Keller?”  He tore his gaze away from the empty bay and her smile wavered when she looked into his stricken eyes.  “Mr. Stone has been taken to an operating room for emergency surgery.  I’m afraid that’s all I know right now.”  She shook her head sadly.  “When I hear more, I’ll come and tell you.”  She tried to smile encouragingly.  </p><p>He nodded.  “Thank you…” he managed to whisper.</p><p>She backed away from the bed and crossed to the door, glancing back with a frown as she left the room again.</p><p>Very slowly, he turned to stare at the curtain again.  But this time he didn’t try to stop the tears.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0029"><h2>29. Chapter 29</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He was staring at the ceiling, something he had been doing since the door had shut behind the hospital bed hours before.  The Venetian blind over the large window had been closed and the heavy curtains pulled but he could still see the faint glimmer of the setting sun around the edges.  </p><p>At dinnertime they had brought him some chicken broth and a chocolate smoothie but they remained, untouched, on the overbed where they had been placed. The newspaper had been picked up, folded and set on the side table.  A nurse he remembered from the first day came in to give him a Tylenol, which he took, and offer a sleeping pill, which he declined.  He had asked about Mike again but she had no information to give him.  She said she would return if she heard anything but so far she hadn’t come back.</p><p>He had tried not to think, not to let his imagination run away with him, but it had been impossible.  And though he wanted to remain optimistic, with every passing minute it was becoming harder and harder to do so.</p><p>The tears had dried up long ago, and he had used almost a full box of tissue trying to clear his blocked nose so he could breathe easier.  His jaw was sore and his ribs ached but he really didn’t care.</p><p>So he stared at the ceiling and waited.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>The door being pushed open wakened him.  The overhead lights had been turned off at some point, he really didn’t know when, and he opened his eyes to see a nurse holding the door open as an orderly backed into the room pulling a hospital bed.  When it cleared the door she let it go and bustled into the empty bay.  The light on the overhead panel snapped on behind the partially closed privacy curtain and, between it and the light spilling in from the dim ‘nighttime setting’ in the corridor, he could see the bed, with its unmoving occupant, disappearing behind the curtain.  </p><p>There was a quiet flurry of activity for a minute or two, the sharp metallic snap of the wheel locks being engaged, the panel light was turned off then the nurse and the orderly quietly left the room.</p><p>He looked at the curtain.  There was no movement and no sound coming from behind it.  He felt his heart start to pound again.  Rolling his head back onto the pillow, staring up into the dark, he closed his eyes.  Then, wrapping his right arm around his ribs, he rolled onto his left side again, once more going through the painful process of getting off the bed.  He had to see for himself that it was Mike in the next bed and he knew if he didn’t do it, the much-needed sleep would never come tonight.</p><p>He tried not to cry out in agony as his feet hit the cold floor and he staggered slightly.  The pain was slightly easier to bear than it had been the first time he had dragged himself from the bed, but not by much.  His right arm still wrapped around his body, he shuffled to the curtain and slowly pulled it open as quietly as possible.  </p><p>He looked at the bed.  Further from the window, it was almost impossible to make out anything in the dark and he moved slowly back to his own, flipping the switch on the panel above it so the light wasn’t so stark and intrusive.  Trying not to moan from the pain, he returned to the other bed and leaned over it as best he could.</p><p>It was slightly raised.  Mike Stone’s eyes were closed and it was obvious he was in a deep sleep, or possibly even sedated.  His breaths were deep and regular.  Under the hospital gown a fresh white gauze bandage, bigger than the previous one, covered his left shoulder, and his left arm was in a sling strapped across his chest.  The IV line was still in the back of his right hand, which was lying at his side.</p><p>Suddenly the need to touch was overwhelming, but he didn’t want to wake the sleeping man.  He looked at Mike’s right arm, then slowly raised his own and wrapped his fingers lightly around his partner’s wrist, staring at the closed eyes.  There was no movement.  He shifted his hand slightly, letting his two middle fingers settle against the radial artery and feeling the comforting rhythm of the pulse.</p><p>He stood there for several long seconds, staring at the man in the bed, allowing his pounding heart to begin to slow.  Then, after gently running his fingers back and forth across the unresisting arm beneath his hand, he returned slowly to his bed, turning off the light.  It seemed to take twice as long to get back onto the bed as it had to get off it, and by the time his head was once more on the pillow, exhaustion, both physical and emotional, had overcome him.  </p><p>He turned his head towards the other bed.  And though he couldn’t see him in the dark, just the knowledge that Mike was beside him once more was enough.  He fell into a deep and slightly less troubled sleep.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>It was the soft thud of the closing door that woke him again.  He opened his eyes onto a fairly bright room.  Though the Venetian blind remained closed, the heavy curtains had been pulled open and diffuse sunlight filled the room.  </p><p>He looked to his left.  The privacy curtain was still pulled but he could hear movement on the other side and the soft murmur of voices.  He strained to hear words but that was proving impossible.  He waited, his heart pounding once more but this time with anticipation instead of dread.</p><p>Eventually he saw a hand grab the end of the curtain and pull it open.  His eyes snapped to the top of the bed as it was suddenly revealed and, his head back against the pillow on the raised bed, Mike Stone was staring at him, a smile on his drawn, exhausted face.  </p><p>Neither of them noticed the nurse turn back at the door and smile as she exited.  </p><p>“Hey, buddy boy,” Mike said softly, his voice raspy but surprisingly strong.</p><p>Steve felt tears spring to his eyes and he tried to smile.  For several seconds he couldn’t say anything past the lump in his throat.  “Are you okay?” he finally got out.</p><p>Mike nodded carefully, his head barely moving.  “I’m okay…”  His eyes slid in the direction of his left shoulder then back to his partner again.  “They, ah, they had to do a little more work on my shoulder… the infection…”  He raised his eyebrows in a facial shrug then smiled again.  “Are you okay?”  He knew the young man would have been worried about him.</p><p>Steve smiled as best he could, trying to keep his emotions in check.  He nodded.  “Yeah… yeah, I’m okay.”  </p><p>A self-conscious silence stretched out between them before Mike turned his head to look at the door, managing to find a chuckle.  “I, ah, I don’t know about you but I’m a little hungry.  I’ve think I’ve missed a lot of meals lately, it seems…”  He paused and took a short breath, briefly closing his eyes before he looked at the other bed again, his smile a bit wider.  “How about you?  Shall we see if we can get something?”</p><p>“Yeah, I’ve missed a couple too,” the younger man said softly, his smile wobbling, and Mike stared at him silently for a couple of long seconds then nodded knowingly.</p><p>Still smiling, Mike picked up the call button near his right hand and pressed it.  He could feel Steve’s eyes on him.  “I, ah, I guess I’ll need to get something I can eat with one hand,” he said with a soft chuckle, trying to avoid meeting the stare, knowing his own emotions were very close to the surface right now as well.</p><p>The door opened and Betty stepped into the room, smiling broadly at them both, her gaze settling on Mike, who still had the call button in his hand.  “You rang, Mike?” she laughed gently.</p><p>“I did,” he chuckled, glancing at Steve.  “We were wondering if it might be possible to get something to eat.  We’ve, ah, we’ve both missed a couple of meals lately.”</p><p>She raised her eyebrows.  “I know… that was quite the evening, I heard.  I’m really glad to see you doing so well.”</p><p>Mike dipped his head.  “Thank you.  I’m feeling a lot better, really.  I was lucky.”</p><p>She smiled warmly, stepping closer to Steve’s bed.  “And how are you feeling?  I bet you had almost as rough a night as he did.”</p><p>He caught his breath, stunned that she seemed to know exactly what he had been through.  He smiled gratefully.  “I’m doing fine, thank you.”</p><p>She winked at him, standing between the two beds and looking back and forth between them.  “Okay, gentlemen, what would you like to eat?  Mind you, the cafeteria menu isn’t vast or even imaginative but they do okay.  Most of it is edible.”  She looked at Steve.  “You can have clear soup, or a smoothie, or both; I’ll leave that up to you.”  She turned to Mike.  “And you can have pretty well anything but maybe something you can eat one-handed or easy to cut.  With a fork.”  There was a playfulness in her tone that both men welcomed.</p><p>“Pancakes?” Mike suggested immediately, his eyebrows raised.</p><p>“Good choice,” Betty laughed with a short sharp nod.  “Syrup and butter?”</p><p>“Please…”</p><p>“You want a coffee to go with that?”</p><p>“Oh yes, please.  With a little milk?”</p><p>“You got it.”  She turned to Steve.  </p><p>“A chocolate smoothie and a coffee?”</p><p>“Excellent.”  Chuckling, she crossed to the door, opening it and turning back.  “I’ll send a candy striper down right away.”  She looked at the older man.  “I’m really glad you’re okay, Mike.”</p><p>He smiled.  “Me too,” he laughed softly.  When the door closed, he turned to look at Steve.  The smile wavered and disappeared.  They stared at each other for a few long beats, then he turned to face the ceiling and closed his eyes, bringing his right hand up to rest lightly on his chest, his fingers over the bandage.</p><p>Steve watched his partner for a minute then, with a soft sigh, rolled onto his back.  His ribs were sore, his jaw ached and he was exhausted, but he couldn’t stop the relieved smile that gently curled his lips.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>The next two days passed without incident.  They both continued to recover, Steve a little faster in the beginning than his partner because of Mike’s unexpected setback.  The emergency operation and new antibiotic worked wonders; the infection cleared up and the hole in the lieutenant’s shoulder began to mend as everyone had hoped.  He was able to ditch the sling and even began taking walks around the floor.</p><p>Steve’s ribs were healing slowly but nevertheless healing.  His walks around the floor were shorter and at a more leisurely pace than his partner’s but his progress was such that he was going to be sprung a day earlier than the older man.</p><p>However, because of the seriousness of both injuries, his ribs and his jaw, Steve would only be released if he was going to be living with another person; he would not be released if he was going home alone.</p><p>There was a great deal of deliberation between the partners and the doctors about where he was going to go.  After much back and forth, and not a little brow-beating from many sides, it was decided that Steve would move into Mike’s house (“I have two bedrooms, you don’t,” was the older man’s winning rational).  But because Mike was not going to be released for at least another day, possibly two, the question of who would temporarily move into Mike’s house to keep Steve company was widely debated.  The doctors had left that decision up to the cops and excused themselves from any further discussion.  </p><p>The rather one-sided decision having been made, Mike was lying on his bed, watching bemusedly as an orderly put his partner’s toiletries and other personal items into a paper bag.  Steve, having changed into jeans, a loose-fitting tee under an unbuttoned dress shirt and sneakers, emerged from the bathroom.</p><p>As he carefully tossed the hospital gown on the bed, Steve looked at his partner from under a lowered brow.  “Promise me you’ll get out of here tomorrow…” he growled and the older man grinned.  </p><p>“You’ll be fine.  Look, we couldn’t ask any of the other guys, you realize that, right?  I mean, they all have wives and families…”  He tried not to chuckle.  “And it’s only for a night or two anyway, right?”</p><p>“One night,” Steve said quickly and emphatically.  “One night, alright?”</p><p>Mike shrugged gently, mindful of his shoulder, and tilted his head.  “That’s not up to me…”</p><p>Still glaring at his partner, Steve sighed.</p><p>There was a soft knock on the door.  The orderly, who was standing beside the wheelchair, patiently waiting for Steve to sit, took the few steps to the door and opened it.</p><p>Framed in the doorway, holding up a set of keys, was a grinning Haseejian.</p>
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<a name="section0030"><h2>30. Chapter 30</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“You got the short end of the stick, eh, kid?” Norm Haseejian cackled as he stepped through the hospital room door, the keys dangling from his upraised hand.  He looked at the occupied bed as he moved deeper into the room.  “How ya feeling today, boss?”</p><p>Chuckling, looking down and trying not to grin, Mike cleared his throat a little louder than necessary before he raised his head.  “I’m doing great, Norm, thanks for asking.”</p><p>“But they’re gonna keep ya here for another coupla days?”</p><p>“One day, Norm,” Steve jumped in, emphasizing the number.  “One day.  And then he’ll be able to go home and, and so will you.”</p><p>Haseejian looked at Steve with a broad smile, raising his eyebrows and chuckling.  To Mike, it sounded humorous; to Steve it sounded borderline evil.  </p><p>The orderly’s eyes were bouncing between all three men, straining to keep a straight face and out of the line of fire.  “Ah, sir,” he said quietly to Steve, “I’ll, ah, I’ll wait out in the corridor…”  He crossed to the door and pulled it open, taking a furtive glance over his shoulder as he exited.  </p><p>Steve was frowning, Haseejian was looking at him like a cat eyeing a canary and Mike was running a hand over his eyes as he tried to contain his laughter.  Still grinning, Haseejian glanced at the unoccupied bed.  “Here,” he said, taking a step towards it and picking up the paper bag, “I’ll take this down to the car.  I’m parked out front in a no-parking zone,” he turned to Mike and bobbed his eyebrows, “of course.”  He looked back at Steve.  “Take your time.”  He started for the door.  “You,” he pointed at Mike with his free hand, “you get yourself outa here and back to work.  Roy’s great but he’s not a street cop.”</p><p>Mike smiled and nodded.  “I will.  Thanks, Norm.”</p><p>With a wink, Haseejian opened the door and disappeared out into the busy corridor.</p><p>With a heavy sigh, Steve moved closer to the bed.  Mike watched him approach with an amused and affectionate smile. </p><p>The younger man shuffled to a stop and they stared at each other for a long beat.  Mike’s smile got a little bigger.  “What’s bugging you?  And don’t say Norm.”</p><p>Steve snorted a laugh, shaking his head.  He sighed.  “I wish you were coming with me.”</p><p>Mike chuckled.  “So do I, but I’m not.”  His smile was encouraging.  “It won’t be long.”</p><p>The younger man nodded.  </p><p>Mike reached up and, careful of the broken jaw and broken ribs and his own still very painful shoulder, grabbed the back of his partner’s neck, squeezing but not shaking; they shared a look for several seconds before the older man removed his hand with a final, gentle squeeze.  “I’ll see you soon,” he said quietly, and Steve nodded, taking a step away from the bed.</p><p>He was halfway to the door when he looked back.  “Mike,” he began softly, in a voice that sounded suspiciously like a whine, looking lonely and bereft, “do I really have to room with Norm?”  His pathetic entreaty was betrayed by the almost inaudible giggle that accompanied it.</p><p>Mike dropped his head and glared at him from under a furrowed brow.  “What have you got against Norm?” he asked with a heavy sigh, easily falling into the routine they had almost perfected in the last several hours. </p><p>“I love him dearly but I don’t make me live with him, Mike… Please… He smokes those god-awful cigars -“</p><p>“You know I’ve told him he can’t do that in my house, and he agreed.”</p><p>“He’s a lousy cook -“</p><p>“Well, I can’t help you there but you can’t eat solid food anyway so why do you care?  I’m sure he can blend a smoothie; I know you can…”</p><p>“But still…  And he snores like -“</p><p>“I told you he’s sleeping on the couch, not in my room, so he’s an entire floor away.”</p><p>“A snore like his goes through the floor; it travels up the stairs and through the walls…”</p><p>“Then wear earplugs.  I think there are some in the bathroom.”</p><p>They stared at each other in mock anger for a beat then they both grinned.  “I better get out of here,” Steve said finally, glancing at the wheelchair.  He stepped to the door and pulled it open a crack; the orderly pushed it open all the way, flipped the doorstop down then circled behind the wheelchair.  </p><p>Steve eased himself carefully down into the chair, allowing the orderly to place his feet on the footplates.  As he was wheeled to the door, he glanced at the bed.  “Get out of here soon, will ya?”</p><p>Mike grinned.  “I’ll try.”</p><p>The wheelchair disappeared through the door and down the corridor.  Mike stared out into the bustling corridor, his gaze unfocusing.  He sighed softly and deeply, then laid back in the bed, closing his eyes, his right hand over the still healing wound in his shoulder.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>Haseejian slipped the key into the lock, glancing back down the steps; Steve, one arm wrapped around his ribs, his head down, was making his way very slowly up the step concrete steps.  Turning the knob, the sergeant pushed the door wide open, picked up the suitcase and paper bag, and stepped over the threshold.</p><p>It had been almost two hours since they had left the hospital.  Knowing that Steve was probably going to be spending more than just a few nights at Mike’s, they had stopped by the Union Street apartment and Steve had packed a suitcase.  </p><p>By the time the younger man was standing Mike’s living room, he was coming down the stairs from the second floor.  “I put your stuff in Jeannie’s room.  The suitcase is on the bed,” he said as he disappeared into the kitchen.  “Why don’t you sit down and take a load off?  You must be getting a little tired,” he yelled.  “I’ll put some coffee on.”</p><p>Nodding slowly, Steve made his way to the armchair, holding his breath as he lowered himself slowly, gasping with relief when he was down.  ‘Norm was right,’ he thought, closing his eyes, ’I’m beat… and it’s barely noon… ’</p><p>He could hear the muted sounds coming from the kitchen and he smiled.  He wished it was Mike but he knew his partner wasn’t ready to leave the hospital just yet.  And that was fine by him; neither of them could take it if Mike had another setback.</p><p>Eventually he heard Haseejian coming into the living room.  “Coffee’s on.  Hey, ah, you guys are gonna need some food.  Well, maybe not you, but you’re gonna need some stuff to make those, ah, smoothies with, right, and how about some clear soups and stuff like that, hunh?  And Mike’s gonna need more stuff before he gets home so he won’t have to go out again.  So, ah, why don’t we put our heads together and make a shopping list and I’ll go out and get it?”</p><p>Steve opened his eyes, staring at the sergeant expressionlessly for a couple of beats before frowning.  “Yeah,” he said slowly, “yeah, I guess you’re right.”  </p><p>Nodding with a happy smile, Haseejian started to look around the room.  “Is there a pad around here somewhere?  I don’t want to use my departmental notebook…”  He noticed a pile of papers and file folders on the far end of the coffee table and started to paw through them.  He stopped, looking at a name on one of the folders.  “What’s all this?”  He looked up at Steve, frowning.  “Goodman…?”</p><p>The younger man didn’t say anything.</p><p>Haseejian’s brows knit.  “Is this all the stuff from the Goodman murders?  The closed case?  The case that got Mike’s ass shipped to IA?”</p><p>Reluctantly, Steve nodded.  </p><p>“Why has he got all this stuff here?”  This was no longer Norm Haseejian, the goofy friend; this was Sergeant Norman Haseejian of the San Francisco Police Department.</p><p>“You know why he’s got it.”</p><p>Norm looked down at the file in his hand.  “He’s not dropping it, is he?  He wants to prove it wasn’t a murder-suicide.”</p><p>Steve met the brown eyes evenly.  </p><p>Haseejian stared back then raised the folder slightly.  “How well do you this case?”</p><p>“As much as Mike does, I guess.”</p><p>The Armenian sergeant looked at the file for a couple of long seconds then tossed it back onto the pile, continuing to flip through it until he found a yellow legal pad on the bottom.  He ripped a blank page from the middle of the pad and put it back on the stack.  “Let’s get that list done.  I want to get to the grocery store before the after-work crowd gets there.”  He put the piece of paper on the coffee table, leaning over it and taking a pen out of his jacket pocket.  He looked at Steve expectantly.</p><p>“Maybe we should see what Mike already has,” Steve suggested, starting to get up.</p><p>“Good idea,” Haseejian smiled, getting to his feet and heading into the kitchen.  He had the fridge door open before Steve even made it to the door.  </p><p>“Why don’t you tell me what he’s got and I’ll add to it,” Steve suggested, picking up the pen that Haseejian had left on the counter on top of the paper.  </p><p>“Sure.”  </p><p>Steve looked at the back of his colleague’s head, buried in the fridge, both of them aware of the sudden uncomfortable and unexpected tension in the room.  </p><p>They spent the next ten minutes going through the kitchen, making the grocery list.  When they had finished, Haseejian folded it in half and stuffed it in his jacket pocket.  He started out of kitchen then stopped at the door and looked back.  He was staring at the young man with an expression that Steve couldn’t read.</p><p>“Listen, ah,” he began finally, “I don’t know how long this is gonna take but, ah, but while I’m gone, why don’t you… I mean, if you feel up to it… why don’t you reacquaint yourself with those files out there, and then when I get back, you can take me through everything… and maybe we can find something in there that, well, that might help Mike prove his case.  What do you say?”</p><p># # # # #</p><p>“God, that smells good.”  Steve was staring at the half-consumed slice of pizza in his colleague’s hand.  </p><p>Haseejian had deliberately sat as far away from the young man with the black eyes and swollen jaw as he could while he scarfed down his dinner.  He had debated with himself about even bringing the pizza into the house but he had to eat, he’d rationalized.</p><p>Steve had made himself an avocado and banana smoothie.  Norm’s shopping trip had been extremely successful and the house was now well-stocked with a variety of both perishable and non-perishable foodstuffs that would satisfy both recuperating partners for at least a week, negating the need for either of them to have to venture out. </p><p>With a guilty half-smile, Haseejian stuffed the last of the pizza into his mouth, chewing furiously.</p><p>Chuckling, Steve looked back down at the file in his lap.  He was working his way slowly through all the information Mike had brought home on the Goodman case.  He had gone back to the very beginning, to the phone call that had started it all, and was reading every word, not wanting to miss a thing.  </p><p>There was a lot of material.</p><p>He had given Haseejian the Cole’s Notes version of their investigation while making the smoothie, with the promise of a deeper dive after they had finished eating.  </p><p>The phone rang and they both jumped.  Haseejian started to get to his feet but Steve waved him down, turning carefully in the armchair to pick up the receiver from the black phone on the small endtable beside him.  “Hello?”</p><p>“Have you killed him yet?” </p><p>Steve laughed.  “Mike, how are you doing?”  He looked up at Haseejian and smiled.</p><p>The welcome sound of the gentle chuckle came over the line.  “I’m doing fine, how are you two doing?”</p><p>“We’re good… just finished dinner.  Norm did a big grocery shop so we’re all good here.  So, any news at your end?”</p><p>“Well, that’s why I’m calling.  They’re letting me out tomorrow morning.”</p>
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<a name="section0031"><h2>31. Chapter 31</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Steve’s eyes slid from the file in his lap to his watch: 10:50.  He glanced at the door, frowning.  </p><p>Haseejian wandered in from the kitchen with two full cups of coffee.  He set one on the endtable beside his colleague and took the other with him to the far end of the couch.  He sat and took a sip.  “They should be here soon,” he said with a smile and watched the younger man’s head snap up, startled.  The sergeant’s smile got a little wider and he chuckled as he took another sip of coffee then put the cup down.</p><p>Contrary to what he had expected, Steve had had a good night.  They had stayed up well past 11 as he had relayed the facts of the Goodman case as he knew them and starting to go through Mike’s files and notes, not finding anything to flag, unfortunately.  Jeannie’s bed had proved a godsend after his stay in the hospital and he had fallen asleep easier than he’d anticipated.  And, mercifully, if Haseejian had snored, Mike had been right and it hadn’t bled through the floorboards.</p><p>And his older colleague had proven to be a wonderful smoothie maker; he made two small glasses for Steve’s breakfast - one coffee flavoured, the other maple syrup.  And now they were enjoying their second cups of coffee and continuing to go through the files.</p><p>They heard a key slide into the lock and turn and the door started to open; closing the file quickly, Steve dropped it to the floor beside the chair.  Haseejian had been encouraged, and had agreed, to keep mum about the Goodman material but Steve didn’t want to wave the files in Devitt’s face and put the captain in the awkward position of having to turn a blind eye.</p><p>Devitt stepped into the living room, his face lighting up when he spied the others.  He nodded back the way he had come.  “He’s on his way up… it’ll be a minute,” he said with a chuckle, stepping deeper into the room.  He had a large paper bag in his hands; he had dropped by the house earlier that morning to pick up some clothes for Mike to wear for his release, and the bag contained what was left of what he’d been wearing when he was shot.</p><p>Haseejian got to his feet; Steve carefully sat forward, glancing down to make sure the file was out of sight.</p><p>There was a scuffling sound on the stoop and, his head down, Mike slowly stepped over the threshold.  He looked up and smiled.  He was wearing a light blue dress shirt, beige Dockers, blue and white Nikes and his fedora.  There was a bulge visible on his left shoulder under the shirt and his left sleeve was empty, his arm in a sling.</p><p>“There he is,” Haseejian announced unnecessarily with a deep chuckle.  </p><p>Steve had pushed himself slowly to his feet, smiling in relief, and took a few steps closer to the door, frowning.</p><p>Mike caught the look, glancing down at himself.  “Don’t worry, the sling is only for the trip home.  I don’t have use it after this.”</p><p>Devitt turned to Mike, raising his eyebrows and the paper bag.  “Where do you want me to put this?”</p><p>“Oh, ah, just leave it on the stairs.  I’ll bring it up later.”</p><p>“Great.”  As he did so, he said over his shoulder, “Okay, then, I’m gonna head back to work.  Still have a couple of open cases…”  He stopped, realizing enthusiasm might be a little out of place right now.  He faced his colleagues sheepishly.</p><p>Mike was smiling at him and chuckling softly.  “It’s okay, Roy, we both know we’re on the sidelines for awhile, and I’m still in IA, remember?  Ah, thanks for the lift home, and for picking up my clothes this morning.”</p><p>The captain beamed.  “You’re very welcome.  I’m just glad you’re both out of the hospital.”  He looked at Steve and shrugged; everyone could tell he was still feeling a little guilty.  He headed for the door then turned back.  “Hey, ah, what about maybe in a week or so, when both of you are feeling better, the guys and I’ll come by and maybe we can get a pizza or something…. What do you think, Norm?”</p><p>Haseejian started slightly, surprised at being brought into the conversation.  “Ah, yeah, that sounds good to me.  We might be able to talk Dan into making one of his famous chilis.  What do you think. Mike?”</p><p>The lieutenant grinned.  “I do love his chili.”  He looked at Steve and shrugged as best he could.  “Sorry, buddy boy, you’ll have to drink yours through a straw…”</p><p>Steve nodded with a sarcastic smirk while the others laughed.  “The story of my life…”</p><p>“Anyway,” Devitt chuckled as he opened the front door, “you two take care of yourselves and I’ll see you soon.  And you even sooner,” he nodded at Haseejian before he stepped out onto the stoop.</p><p>“I’ll be in as soon as I get outa here,” the Armenian sergeant laughed.</p><p>“See ya, Roy,” Mike called as the door closed.  He turned into the room with a heavy and relieved sigh.  “Oh, it feels good to be home,” he breathed.</p><p>“I bet it does,” Haseejian said softly.  “Look, I’ll get my stuff together and get outa your hair.”  </p><p>“No rush,” Mike chuckled as he started slowly for the armchair.  </p><p>Haseejian watched his progress, frowning slightly.  “You want a coffee?” he asked as the older man moved past him.</p><p>There was a hitch in Mike’s step and he looked at the sergeant warily.  “You made the coffee this morning?”</p><p>“Yes, he did,” Steve chimed in, “and for some strange reason, it’s really good.  Not like that swill - no offence, Norm  -“</p><p>“None taken.”</p><p>“- that he makes in the office.”</p><p>“Well, a worker is only as good as his tools, or something like that…”</p><p>Chuckling, Mike continued towards the armchair.  “Well, I guess I have to try it then, don’t I?”</p><p>Laughing, Haseejian disappeared into the kitchen.</p><p>As Mike lowered himself into his favourite chair, he spotted the file on the floor.  Safely down, he reached over the arm and picked it up, staring at Steve with a worried frown.  The younger man, who had moved to the couch and was in the process of sitting carefully as well, looked at his partner and raised his eyebrows.</p><p>“Norm?” Mike mouthed silently, nodding towards the kitchen.</p><p>Steve nodded.  “He knows all about it.”</p><p>Mike’s eyes widened.  </p><p>Steve raised both hands placatingly.  “Don’t worry, he’s going to be like a monk, he’s promised not to say anything.  As a matter of fact, he and I went through most of the stuff you’ve got last night.”</p><p>His head going back slightly, the older man looked surprised.  “You did?”</p><p>Smiling, Steve nodded.  “We did.  We didn’t get through everything, but we took a good crack at it.”</p><p>“Humh.  Did you find anything I missed?”</p><p>The younger man shook his head.  “Nothing…”</p><p>“Here ya go,” Haseejian said enthusiastically as he came back into the room, a large mug in his hand.  “Give that a try.”</p><p>Taking the cup, Mike nodded his thanks before taking a sip, the other two watching closely.  His eyebrows rose.  “Wow, even I don’t make coffee this good.  You used the coffee in the cupboard?”</p><p>“Ah, no,” Haseejian began slowly, stealing a guilty glance at Steve, “I, ah, I bought some of that, ah, that specialty coffee, ah, you know, the stuff from Hawaii…”</p><p>“Kona?” Steve asked, sounding a little shocked.</p><p>Haseejian looked at him again.  “Ah, yeah, you know it?”  He sounded surprised.</p><p>“Ah, yeah… I know it’s expensive…”</p><p>“Well, I thought, you know, special occasion and all that.”  He grinned at Mike.  “I’m glad you like it.  There’s enough for about a week, if you just make a full percolator a day…”</p><p>The lieutenant took another sip, closing his eyes with pleasure.  Haseejian beamed at them both.</p><p>Mike lowered the cup, staring at the sergeant with a sudden gravity that made the latter’s heart slip a beat.  “You know what this means, don’t you?”</p><p>“Ah, no…?”</p><p>“This means I can never to back to my old coffee… this means it’s going to cost me more to have a cup in the morning now…”  He paused for a beat.  “Thank you, Norm.”  His voice was low and calm and dripping with sarcasm.</p><p>“Ah… you’re welcome?”</p><p>Steve started to laugh.  Haseejian looked at him with a confused frown as Mike began to smile, then chuckle.  His eyes bouncing back and forth between the partners, Haseejian’s laugh was tentative and strained.</p><p>Taking his sergeant off the hook, Mike put the cup down and picked up the file he had set on his lap.  “I, ah, I hear you and Steve went though most of the Goodman files last night but you didn’t find anything?”</p><p>“Ah, yeah,” Haseejian replied, still chuckling softly as he moved to sit on the couch beside Steve.  “We didn’t get through it all though.”</p><p>“Well, thanks for that, both of you.  Fresh eyes are always welcome.”</p><p>“You, ah, you gonna continue to work on it?” </p><p>Mike nodded.  “Umh-humh.  Hell, I got nothing else to do for a couple of weeks now anyway, and I’ve got another brain in the house” he glanced at Steve and smiled, “so… why not, eh?”  He shrugged slightly.</p><p>“You really don’t believe it was a murder-suicide, do you?”</p><p>Mike shook his head slowly.  “Nope.  And I’ll put my career on the line to prove it…  And I will.  It might not be soon, it might not be for months or maybe years, but I’m gonna prove Jane Goodman didn’t kill her husband and her son.”</p><p>Hassjian nodded almost to himself, looking down.  “Well,” he said slowly, “for the next few weeks, whether you’re here or back in IA, let me be your conduit to anything you need from Homicide.  I’ll do it totally on the Q.T.  ‘Cause I don’t think she did it either…”  He stared into his boss’s blue eyes with no trace of a smile.</p><p>Mike’s lips curled slowly.  “Thank you…”</p><p># # # # #</p><p>Steve opened the bathroom door, turned off the light and started down the hall to Jeannie’s room.  He glanced towards the master bedroom, surprised to see light under the closed door.  Making a slow u-turn, he approached the door; it was ajar.  Tentatively he pushed it open.</p><p>In his pajamas, the covers pulled up to his waist, Mike was sitting up in his bed, his glasses on and an open file on his lap.  His head was forward, his chin on his chest, and he was sound asleep.</p><p>With a soft smile, Steve tiptoed to the bed, reaching out to slowly and carefully pick up the file.  As the folder moved, Mike’s head jerked up and he winced, his right hand moving reflexively towards his left shoulder.  He looked up, surprised to see his partner standing beside the bed with the file in his hand, smiling like a Cheshire cat.  He chuckled self-consciously.  “I, ah, I must have fallen asleep…”. He rubbed his right hand over his face, rubbing his eyes.  “What time is it?”</p><p>“It’s almost midnight.  Don’t you think you should get a good night’s sleep your first day home?” Steve chuckled.  He held the file up.  “You’ve got plenty of time for this, remember?”</p><p>Mike smiled affectionately.  “You’re right, you’re right…“</p><p>Laughing softly, the younger man dropped the file to the floor and turned towards the door.</p><p>“Steve…”</p><p>He stopped and looked back.</p><p>“Do you think I’m wrong?  Do you think O’Donnell was right and it was a murder-suicide, and I’m just on a wild goose chase?”</p><p>Steve stared at his partner for a long beat, his face expressionless.  Then he slowly shook his head.  “No.  No, I don’t think you’re wrong.”</p><p>Mike’s face crumpled slightly in gratitude then he smiled self-consciously, his eyes suddenly bright.</p><p>“Sleep well,” Steve said quietly as he padded to the door.</p><p>“You too.”  Mike watched as the door closed behind the young man, his smile lingering.  He rubbed his right hand over his face again, then carefully reached for the lamp on the bedside table and turned it off.</p><p>He leaned back against the pillows and closed his eyes, but sleep didn’t come for a long time…</p>
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<a name="section0032"><h2>32. Chapter 32</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They settled into a comfortable routine.  Though they knew they had to allow their bodies time to heal, and that overdoing it could mean a setback that neither of them wanted, they still fell into a pattern that worked for both of them.</p><p>Contrary to his usual habit, Mike found himself able to sleep in till 7 or 7:30 most mornings, which was going a long way to helping in his recovery.  And he’d even been able to start doing some of the physiotherapy his doctors in the hospital had recommended.</p><p>Steve, who never had a problem sleeping in, would rouse himself closer to nine and stagger downstairs to the breakfast Mike had already prepared.  His ribs were healing well, though he was still stiff in the mornings and sore by the end of the day.  His jaw no longer gave him any physical discomfort but was now just becoming annoyingly inconvenient, and his liquid diet had long ago stopped giving him any thrill.</p><p>After breakfast, they would start very slowly going over everything they had accumulated on the Goodman murders.  Mike had asked for, and Lee Lessing had delivered, several large sheets of white poster board, which they carefully, hoping it didn’t leave a residue or peal the paint, taped to the walls in the living room.  He was thankful that Jeannie wasn’t home.  Using black Magic Markers, they wrote down everything they knew and questions that needed answers.</p><p>At the end of the second week, they knew the case forwards and backwards, but they were no further along.  They had hit the proverbial dead end.</p><p>After a visit to the departmental doctor, Mike was cleared to go back to work behind a desk.  Steve was told he needed at least another two weeks before he could do the same.  It was mutually agreed that he would move home as he was more than capable of living on his own.  And besides, Jeannie would be returning from New York in a week and he would have to move to the couch or home anyway.</p><p>Early on the Monday morning, Mike showed up in IA again, not exactly sure what he was going to do.  Captain Cassidy was waiting for him; he hadn’t seen Mike since the Webster’s bedroom, and it was sight he would like to have forgotten.</p><p>Grinning, he sat on the edge of Mike’s desk.  “Well, well, you’re looking good, I must say.  How are you feeling?”</p><p>Mike laughed and leaned back in the chair.  “I’m feeling pretty good, George, thanks for asking.”</p><p>“You look a helluva lot better than the last time I saw ya, that’s for sure.  Listen, ah, I know you’re stuck in the office here, and your penance doesn’t end for another month…”  They both chuckled.  “And I really don’t want you to get all tied up in some of our more unsavory cases -“</p><p>“Listen, George,” Mike leaned forward, frowning.  “I don’t want to spend the next four weeks pushing paper, I’ll go crazy.  Why don’t you give me something I can investigate internally, something I don’t have to hit the streets for?”</p><p>Cassidy looked at him with a furrowed brow.  He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.  “Look, ah, there’s something that I’m looking into, that I haven’t assigned and nobody else knows about it…”  He paused and sighed again then glanced around the room.  He looked back at Mike and nodded over his shoulder towards the small inner office.  “Let’s go in there.”</p><p>They both stood and crossed to the room; Cassidy shut the door behind them.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>“Hello?”</p><p>“Hey, how was your first day back?”</p><p>“Hi - ah, yeah, it, ah, it was interesting.  Listen, I was just going to call you.  Have you had dinner yet?”</p><p>“No, why?”</p><p>“Ah, listen, I want to pick your brain.  Why don’t I head over your way and we can grab some dinner at that little mom-and-pop Italian place near you?  You know the one…”</p><p>“Luigi’s?”  </p><p>“Yeah, that one.”</p><p>“Sure, okay.”</p><p>“Great.  I’ll, ah, I’ll be there in about a hour.  I just got in and I want to get changed and all that.”</p><p>“Okay, see you there.”  Steve stared at the receiver in his hand for several seconds, frowning, before he hung up.  </p><p># # # # #</p><p>“You’re right, they do make exceptional lasagna.”  Mike popped a forkful of the pasta into his mouth, smiling close-mouthed as he chewed.</p><p>“Yeah, just rub it in a little more,” Steve whined with a smirk as he scooped up another spoonful of his cream of tomato soup.  “Although, I have to admit, this is really delicious.”  He’d gotten very good at eating soup through the wires in the past few weeks.</p><p>“You got your nail clippers with you?” Mike asked suddenly with a frown.</p><p>The younger man cocked his head and smiled.  “Always.”</p><p>“Good.”  </p><p>“So, ah, what do you want to talk to me about?”</p><p>Mike put his fork down and sat back.  “How well do you know Andy Pettis?”</p><p>“Andy?”  Steve’s eyebrows shot up.  “The guy I was in the Academy with, Andy Pettis?”</p><p>“Umh-humh,” Mike nodded.</p><p>His focus turning inward momentarily, Steve shrugged.  “Well, I really haven’t seen him since the academy.  I mean, we used to go out for beers with the other guys for a time just after we graduated but then we all went our separate ways.  Last I heard he was still on foot patrol.  Why?  Are you investigating him?”</p><p>Mike nodded again.  “Yeah.  IA seems to think he’s been taking bribes.”</p><p>“Bribes?  What kind of bribes?”</p><p>“He walks a beat over in the Tenderloin.  There’s a lot of new Vietnamese immigrants there now… a lot of them are starting to set up small shops and restaurants.  And word is he’s shaking them down… for ‘protection’.”</p><p>“Protection from what?”</p><p>Mike snorted.  “That’s just it… from nothing.  Except him, maybe… These people don’t know anything about that kinda stuff.  He’s a cop, they automatically think what he’s doing is how it is here, I bet…  It’s probably the way things were done back home so…”  He shrugged.  “He’s taking advantage of them.”</p><p>Steve sat back.  “Son of a bitch…”  He eyed his partner knowingly.  “What are you thinking?”</p><p>Mike raised his eyebrows.  “Well, Pettis doesn’t know me, at least not personally, so I’m gonna head down there in the next couple of days, when he not on duty, and try to talk to a couple of these people.”  When Steve opened his mouth to interject, he threw both hands up.  “I know, I know, my Vietnamese is very limited… Non-existent, actually,” he laughed.  “I’m bringing Johnny Nguyen from Robbery with me.”</p><p>Steve chuckled.  “Good plan.”</p><p>“Thank you.”</p><p>“But I thought you were desk-bound?”</p><p>Mike screwed up his face.  “Yeah…” he drew the word out.  “I talked to George about that.  Both of us agreed that I just drive myself down there, with Johnny,  and talk to some people… That’s all.  Piece a cake…”</p><p>“Yeah… right…”</p><p>“Anyway, ah, and you can say no…” Mike began tentatively, “I was wondering if you could…?”</p><p>“You were wondering if I could give Andy a call and maybe go out for a beer with him and play catch-up.”</p><p>“You took the words right out of my mouth.”  Mike smiled like a crocodile.</p><p>Steve stared at him expressionlessly.  “And what I am supposed to tell him?  ‘Hey, Andy, just thought I’d call you and find out how the protection racket’s going?’  I mean, come on, Mike, won’t he find it a bit suspicious when I call him out of the blue?  I’m sure he knows you’re my partner and I’m pretty sure everybody in the department knows you’ve been banished to IA right now.”</p><p>Leaning forward, Mike shook his head and chuckled, continuing to smile.  “And that’s why I think you should call up all of your old Academy buddies and have a ‘reunion’.  Go back to that bar you used to go to and throw back a coupla beers and see where you all have ended up… you know, that kinda thing…. I mean, come on, you have the perfect opening, right?  Recovering from an injury in the line of duty…?  And what else do you have you do, right…?”  He shrugged again, his smile borderline coy.</p><p>Steve continued to stare; Mike was having a hard time reading his mind.  Finally the younger man cleared his throat.  “What do you want to know?”</p><p>Mike grinned, sitting back quickly and laughing.  “You know what I need:  where he lives, what he’s driving, what kind of watch he wears, you know…  Anything that says he’s living higher on the hog than a patrolman should be… sort of like you.”  If possible, his grin got wider.</p><p>“Ha ha, you know damn well I’ll still be paying for that Porsche after you retire,” Steve shot back.</p><p>“Bite your tongue, my boy, you have no idea when I’m gonna retire.”</p><p>“And I have no idea when I’ll be finished paying for the Porsche,” Steve laughed, and they shared the moment.  Both of them were missing their time together on the job.  “All right, I’ll see if I can track down his number and give him a call tomorrow…” His voice trailed off; Mike was already reaching into his shirt pocket.  His hand emerged with a folded piece of white paper between his fingers.  He held it out across the table.</p><p>“I, ah, I took the liberty…” the senior partner smiled as Steve snatched the paper from his hand and unfolded it.</p><p>“Thank you,” came the sarcastic reply.</p><p>“So what do you remember about him?” Mike asked as he picked up his fork and took another bite of lasagna.</p><p>Steve picked up his spoon, frowning.  “Not much, really.  I mean, we went for drinks, like I said, but I really didn’t hang around with him much other than that.  He seemed like a pretty straight up guy but who knows…”  He took a sip of the rapidly cooling soup.</p><p>“But he’ll remember you though, right?”</p><p>“Oh yeah.  Everybody will remember me.”  Steve chuckled to himself, taking another sip.  When he looked up, Mike was staring at him with a slightly alarmed frown.  “Because I was friendly and got along with everybody,” he asserted quickly and forcefully.  “What the hell did you think I meant?”</p><p>Mike shook his head as if clearing it.  “I’m not sure…”  They both laughed.  </p><p>A companionable silence settled over the table.  Steve eventually looked up and smiled slightly.  “Thank you.”</p><p>“For what?”</p><p>“Bringing me back into the game… for a little bit…”</p><p>“Hey, I’m not really back in the game yet myself, but…”  He shrugged helplessly with a soft smile.  “Just to me a favor, will ya, and be careful.  I want you back to work sooner rather than later.”</p><p>Steve smiled affectionately as best he could.  “I will.  You too, right?”</p><p>“I will.  I’ll remember that while I’m digging into that huge bowl of delicious, hot pho tomorrow…”</p><p>“Oh, put a cork in it, will you…”</p><p>Their laughter caused heads to turn in the small restaurant.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>The dark blue Galaxie pulled to a stop at the curb and both front doors opened.  Lieutenant Mike Stone and Sergeant John Nguyen met on the sidewalk, glancing up and down the street.  Mike pointed to their left, Nguyen nodded and they started down the street towards the small Bien Pho restaurant.</p><p>Patting his jacket pocket to make sure he had the colour photo of Andy Pettis, Mike opened the door and ushered Nguyen in ahead of him.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0033"><h2>33. Chapter 33</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Hello?</p><p>“So, how was your day?”</p><p>‘Well, I spent most of it on the phone?  How about you?”</p><p>“Were you successful?”</p><p>“If you mean, did I get in touch with everybody in my academy class and lied to them about getting together on Saturday night, then, yes, I was successful.”</p><p>“How many are going?”</p><p>“All but two.”</p><p>“One of those two hopefully isn’t Andy Pettis, is it?”</p><p>“No, you’re lucky, he’s one of the ones that’s coming.”</p><p>“Great.”</p><p>“I knew you’d be pleased.  So what did you do today?”</p><p>“Well, Johnny Nguyen and I went down the ‘Loin and did a little one-on-one with some of the Vietnamese shop and restaurant owners…”</p><p>“And?”</p><p>There was a short pause.  “They’re scared, Steve.  They wouldn’t talk to me, even having Johnny with me, they wouldn’t talk.  They wouldn’t even say they recognized Pettis from the photo I showed them, and I know they know him ‘cause he walks a beat there…”</p><p>“That’s disappointing…”</p><p>“Yeah, but we’re going back tomorrow.  A couple of the owners weren’t in their stores or restaurants but they’re going to be there tomorrow… but I don’t think our odds are going to improve any.”</p><p>“So what do you think?”</p><p>“I think they are being shaken down but they’re just too scared, or embarrassed, to talk about it.  Everybody we talked to today was a man, but some of the wives were sorta lurking in the background, and I think one or two of them looked like they wanted to say something, so maybe tomorrow…. If I can get them away from their husbands…”  There was a short pause.  “I don’t know but it’s worth a try, I guess.”</p><p>“Well, be careful.”</p><p>“Oh, don’t worry.  Johnny told me he’s a red belt in Vovinam.”</p><p>“A what?”</p><p>“A red belt in Vovinam.  It’s a Vietnamese martial art.”  Steve could almost hear the amused smugness in Mike’s voice, proud that he had pronounced the foreign word properly, and he smiled to himself.</p><p>“He’s not a black belt?”</p><p>“They don’t have black belts.  Their highest level is a white belt, and a red is one step below that, so I think he’s probably pretty good.”</p><p>“Well, let’s just hope you don’t need his services.”</p><p>“No kidding.”  There was a dry chuckle.  “So you guys are going to get together on Saturday?”</p><p>“Yeah, I was hoping it could’ve been sooner but asking everybody to get together for a drink on a weeknight would’ve been a little suspicious, I thought.  Saturday made more sense.”</p><p>“Yeah, it does.  If I get anything from our wives tomorrow, or find someone that’s willing to talk, I might just sit on it until we see if you can ferret out anything.  So what are you doing to fill your days?”</p><p>“Well, today I made a lot of phone calls -“</p><p>“Very funny, I know that already.  I mean what else have you been doing?”</p><p>“Well, believe it or not, I’m teaching myself how to make sourdough bread.”</p><p>There was a long silence on the other end of the line.</p><p>“Seriously, what are you doing to keep yourself busy?”</p><p>“What, you don’t believe I’m becoming a breadmaker?”</p><p>“Uh, no… I mean, why would you?  You can’t eat it, probably for another three or four weeks I would think, so….?”  This time the pause was shorter.  “You have a new neighbor.”  It wasn’t a question, and it elicited a quick laugh.</p><p>“Well done, detective.”</p><p>“What is she: blonde, brunette, redhead?”</p><p>“There’s, ah, there’s two of them actually; they’re sharing.  A blonde and a brunette.”</p><p>“Wow, you really hit the jackpot, didn’t you?  You come bearing gifts because you’re just learning and because of your poor old broken jaw, which you suffered in the line of duty, you can’t sample your own creation so you need a… a guinea pig, or two… to let you know how you’re doing…. Am I close?”</p><p>“Well, I didn’t exactly put it that way… but yeah.”</p><p>There was a deep and appreciative chuckle on the other end of the line.  “Well, good for you.  I’m glad you’re putting your free time to good use.  Listen, I’ll let you go and call you tomorrow night.”</p><p>“Okay.  Be careful tomorrow, okay?”</p><p>“Always.  Goodnight.”</p><p>“‘Night, Mike.”</p><p># # # # #</p><p>Mike sighed, glanced at his watch then across the front seat.  They were sitting in a car down the street from Phuoc Loi Grocery.  They had paid a visit to the owner yesterday, a Mr. Do Van Tien, who had denied even knowing Officer Pettis, but the body language of his wife, who had been standing at the door to the storage room, told both detectives she wanted to say something but was intimidated by her husband.</p><p>They were hoping that Mr. Tien was going to leave to store at some point during the day to run an errand or something, leaving his wife alone so they could approach her.  It was a longshot but Mike had a gut feeling that Mrs. Tien could be instrumental in his investigation.</p><p>“I don’t know about you, Johnny, but I could start thinking about lunch right about now, don’t you?”</p><p>“Oh yeah,” the second generation Vietnamese-American sergeant grinned, “a nice banh mi sandwich would really hit the spot, don’t you think?”</p><p>“It sure would,” Mike chuckled.  “You know of any good place around -?“  He froze, staring through the windshield.  </p><p>Nguyen followed the look.  Mr. Tien had just exited his story and was walking towards them down the sidewalk.  Mike, behind the wheel, turned away to look out the side window and Nguyen looked down at the newspaper on his lap.  When the Vietnamese grocer passed their car, they both got out and hustled up the busy street to the store.</p><p>Mrs. Tien was alone behind the counter.  She looked up, her eyes widening in alarm when she recognized the approaching cops.  She said something quickly, sounding frightened.</p><p>“She says her husband is not here,” Nguyen translated, then he said something to her and she relaxed, her eyes sliding towards Mike.  “I told her we didn’t want to talk to her husband, we want to talk to her.”</p><p>“Ask her how long he’ll be gone?”</p><p>He did.  “About ten minutes.”</p><p>“Long enough,” Mike said under his breath as he took the photo out of his pocket and slapped it on the counter.  “When we asked your husband about this man yesterday, he said he didn’t know him.  But I think you do.  Do you know him?”</p><p>He waited for Nguyen to translate, not taking his eyes off her.  She began to nod before Nguyen had a chance to catch up with what she was saying.</p><p>“Ask her if her husband pays this man money and, if he does, why?”</p><p>Mrs. Tien was nodding through her entire answer.</p><p>“Yeah, he pays him $20 a week.”  Both Nguyen and Mike winced at the sum.  “And it’s to keep the Chinese triads from coming down here and busting up the shop, and maybe even breaking his legs…. or worse.”</p><p>Mike frowned.  “The Chinese triads?  They wouldn’t come down here, would they?  They wouldn’t care about a Vietnamese mom-and-pop grocery way down here, would they?”</p><p>Nguyen was already shaking his head.  “No, they wouldn’t.  But these people, Mike, they don’t know that.  This is a totally new way of life for them, and Pettis being a cop - an American cop… They’d believe everything he tells them.”</p><p>Mike had pursed his lips and was nodding.  “Ask her when her husband makes the payments?”</p><p>Mrs. Tien’s eyes were snapping back and forth between the two detectives.</p><p>“Monday afternoons, usually just after lunch, when her husband has time to go to the bank with the weekends deposit.”</p><p>Mike smiled, turning to the woman and bowing slightly.  “Cam o’n ban, Mrs. Tien.”</p><p>She broke into a wide smile.  Nguyen laughed.  “She says to call her Minh.”</p><p>Mike chuckled, extending his right had for her to shake.  “Minh,” he said warmly, putting his left hand on his chest and bowing his head slightly.  “Mike.”</p><p>She bowed, shaking his hand vigorously.  “Mike…”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>They returned to their car, keeping an eye out for Mr. Tien.  They were safely back in the front seat of the Galaxie before Mike turned to the sergeant.  “Okay, Johnny, I guess that does it for us today.  But, ah, I could use your services again next Monday.  Does that work for you?”</p><p>Nguyen nodded.  “Yep, sure does.  I’ll make sure I clear it with Matt but I won’t tell him why, of course.”</p><p>“Great,” Mike nodded as he started the car.  It was turning out to be a good day, he thought, and this case might be wrapped up sooner than he thought.</p><p>As the Galaxie pulled away from the curb, across the street a Chinese teenager slipped off the hood of the car he’d been sitting on and strolled to a nearby pay phone.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>The bar was already crowded by the time Steve squeezed in the front door.  It seemed the reunion of the Police Academy Class of November 1969 wasn’t the only group of revellers in the popular watering hole on a Saturday night.  </p><p>It didn’t take him long to find his fellow graduates, clustered around the far end of the bar, bottles of beer in their hands.  There were whoops of greeting, followed quickly by looks of shock and a barrage of questions about his appearance.  Steve spent a lot of time repeatedly explaining his wired jaw, and he was definitely the centre of attention for awhile after his arrival.</p><p>He was very pleased to see Andy Pettis amongst the group, and spent most of the night keeping a circumspect eye on his quarry.  But Pettis did or said nothing during the night to arouse suspicion.  He wasn’t wearing flashy or expensive clothes, and his watch was a department store Timex.  A good number of the group, Steve amongst them, bought rounds for the rest, Pettis as well, but large bills weren’t flashed and Pettis, like most of the rest, used a credit card.</p><p>Steve had used his time well, working his way through the group, managing to get every one of them aside for brief one-on-one conversations, ostensibly to catch up on each others’ lives.  So when he eventually worked his way to Pettis, nothing seemed suspicious.</p><p>They had managed to snag a small two-person table against the back wall, far enough away from the bar so conversation wasn’t so strained.  And, with the skill he had acquired, both innate and what he had learned from his partner, managed to get all the questions he needed answered in less than five minutes with Pettis none the wiser, or so he hoped.</p><p>The group started to scatter just after one, with a few, like Steve and Pettis, staying till the bar closed at two..  Steve, who had switched to drinking straight Coke after a couple of early beers, made sure as best he could that no one was drunk, and those that did have more than their limit took a cab or carpooled.  After all, he was the one that organized this little get-together and he was, by and large, the host.</p><p>Pettis was one of the last to leave.  Steve had one more question he needed answered.  As Pettis headed to the door, Steve grabbed his coat and hurried to catch up.</p><p>“Hey, Andy, wait up,” he called as he half-jogged down the dark streetlight-lit sidewalk towards the tall redhead.  “Where are you parked?”</p><p>Pettis gestured with his head.  “Just down the street.  You?”</p><p>“A couple of blocks over.”</p><p>“You still got that Porsche?”</p><p>“You mean the Porsche I’ll be paying for the rest of my life?” Steve chuckled.  “Yeah, I’ve still got it.”</p><p>“I still can’t believe to you bought that, man.  When I heard you bought a Porsche I thought, hell, what are they paying those guys in Vice anyway?”</p><p>They both laughed.  “Well, it was an opportunity I just couldn’t pass up.  I don’t regret it but still…. It does raise eyebrows.  Mike never lets me forget about it, that’s for sure.”</p><p>“Hell, why not, eh?  I mean, you’re not married, what else you gotta spend your money on?”</p><p>“What are you driving?” Steve asked casually.</p><p>Pettis laughed.  “I still have that bug I bought when I got into the Academy.”</p><p>“The green one?  The one Sandy pasted those red paper circles on?”</p><p>“The ones that made it look like a ladybug?  Yeah, that one.”  Pettis nodded up the street and Steve looked in that direction.  The Volkswagen Beetle came into view parked behind a white van.  </p><p>“Oh man, I remember this.  Good car.”</p><p>Smiling, Pettis crossed to the driver’s side door, digging his keys out of his jeans pocket.  “Well, it’s not a Porsche…” he chuckled with a shrug.</p><p>Steve threw him a good-natured smirk.  “Yeah, yeah.  Listen, Andy, great to see you.  We should do this more often, all of us, you know…”</p><p>“Yeah, it was fun.  Thanks for setting it up.”  He opened the door.  “Take it easy, Steve.”</p><p>“I will.”</p><p>Pettis got in behind the wheel, slammed the door and within seconds the green bug was heading off down the street.</p><p>Steve watched it go then started towards his own car on the next block.  He stuffed his hands in his pockets, his head down, as he walked down the deserted street.  He’d gotten answers to all the questions Mike wanted asked; he just wasn’t sure if they were the answers his partner wanted to hear.</p>
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<a name="section0034"><h2>34. Chapter 34</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“So,” Mike eyed the young man almost eagerly as he set the bottle of beer on the table beside the bowl of minestrone soup, “did you find anything - oh, ah, you’re good with minestrone, right?”</p><p>Steve nodded with a smile as he sat at the kitchen table.  Mike had invited him over for an early dinner and to grill him about the goings-on of the previous night.</p><p>He set his own beer down then crossed back to the counter to get his plate of macaroni and cheese.  Steve watched him with raised eyebrows, looking pointedly at the plate.</p><p>“What?” Mike asked as he sat and picked up his napkin.  “I haven’t had time to do any cooking today.  I’ve been trying to get this place cleaned up.  Jeannie’s coming home tomorrow, remember?”</p><p>Steve’s eyes shot wide.  “Dear god, it’s been six weeks already?”</p><p>“Umh-humh,” Mike nodded, picking up his fork and stirring his pasta.  “Well, It’s been a busy few weeks for us, if you think about it.”</p><p>Rubbing a hand over his cheek, Steve nodded.  “Oh yeah, I remember.”  He gestured at the other man with his chin.  “You’re showing no signs of what happened, thank god, but, ah….”  He pointed at his own jaw.  </p><p>Mike stabbed some pasta, the fork pausing halfway to his mouth.  “What?  You can tell her the truth, you don’t have anything to hide.”</p><p>After a beat, Steve wagged his head from side to side with a facial shrug.  “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”  He picked up his spoon and took a sip of the hot soup.  “Are you going to say anything about…?”  He nodded at Mike’s shoulder.</p><p>“Are you kidding?  Not on your life.”  Mike picked up his beer and took a sip.  “So, what did you find out about Pettis?”</p><p>“Well, I got answers to all of your questions but I don’t think it’s gonna help.  He wears a Timex, he drives an old Volkswagen Beetle and he lives in Bernal Heights.”</p><p>Mike chewed thoughtfully, frowning.  “Doesn’t seem like he’s living beyond his means, does it?”</p><p>Steve shook his head as he took another spoonful of soup.  </p><p>The older man stare drifted away.  Steve continued to eat and waited.  Eventually Mike sighed with a soft shrug.  “Well, maybe’s he’s saving up for something…”</p><p>“You’re sure he’s taking protection money?”</p><p>Mike tilted his head.  “Well, Mrs. Tien said it’s him.  We’ll know tomorrow, won’t we?”</p><p>“You got it all set up?”</p><p>“Oh, yeah, but we’ve gotta be careful.  He walks the beat so he’ll spot our guys pretty easily.  I talked to George and he’s agreed - it’s just gonna be me and Johnny Nguyen, and I’ve arranged for three patrolmen from down Daly City way in plainclothes to wander up and down the street like locals.  Then we’ll have two plainclothes teams from IA on the next block and I’ll be in touch with them by walkie-talkie.  Johnny’s gonna be in the store and I’ll park down the block in my own car.”  Steve frowned and Mike continued quickly, “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna wear my suit.  I’ll dress like I’m going to a ballgame… satisfied?”</p><p>Steve chuckled.  </p><p>“We gotta catch him in the act or we’ve got nothing.  I know he’s shaking down more than just the Tiens but so far nobody else has come forward.  Maybe after we arrest him they will but…” He shrugged.</p><p>Steve put the spoon down.  “You know, I’ve been thinking about that.  If he gets twenty bucks a week, that’s over a thousand a year.  And if he’s shaking down, what, maybe four or five shops or restaurants minimum… that’s over five thousand a year…. That’s a lot of money from people who are living on the edge as it is.”</p><p>“Yeah, I’ve been thinking about that too.  Welcome to America, right?”</p><p>“Yeah…”</p><p>A silence fell over them as they continued eating.</p><p>“Oh, ah,” Steve said finally.  “What time is Jeannie getting in?”</p><p>“Not till around dinnertime.  She got to fly through L.A. so she’s not getting in till around five.  I should be finished with Pettis by then and I can go pick her up.  And before you ask,” he continued quickly, “she’s already asked me to invite you to dinner on Tuesday.  She’s promised to make me a pot roast but, ah, once I explain to her that you have to eat something soft and, you know, liquidy, I’m sure she can whip something up for you…”</p><p>Steve stared at his partner, frowning.  “So you mean to tell me you had an opportunity to tell her about…”  He gestured at his face.  “And you didn’t?”</p><p>His mouth full of pasta, Mike smiled and shook his head.  He swallowed.  “No, I, ah, I thought I’d leave the pleasure of explaining your face to you…”  He shrugged with a chuckle.</p><p>“Gee, thanks…”</p><p>Chuckling, the older man went back to his meal.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>Mike glanced at his watch:  12:55.  He was sitting in his own car down the street and on the opposite side from the grocery.  He squirmed slightly, from impatience and from the knowledge that the car was parked a little too close to a fire hydrant; it had been the only spot he could find.  If he’d been in an unmarked, it wouldn’t have been a problem; but an unmarked police vehicle would be spotted by Pettis in a heartbeat.  He hadn’t wanted to call unwanted attention to himself but he needed to be able to stay out of sight in the vehicle and keep an eye on the grocery.  When Pettis entered the shop, he would let a minute or so go by before going in himself.  Johnny Nguyen was already inside and, hopefully, he would witness the transaction, or be close enough to interrupt it.</p><p>He barely had to turn his head to see the front of the store across the street and slightly down.  Mr. Tien had returned from his usual Monday trip to the bank so now it was just a waiting game.  </p><p>He glanced at his watch again then at the right side mirror.  He froze.  A uniformed Pettis was coming down the sidewalk towards him.  He looked away, tugging the brim of his baseball cap down, not wanting to be spotted in the mirror.  His heart starting to pound, he waited, estimating the time it would take Pettis to pass.  When he didn’t, Mike debated taking another look in the mirror;  when he did, Pettis wasn’t there.  He sat a little deeper in the seat, frowning.  He glanced into the mirror again just in time to see Pettis exiting a restaurant and starting down the street towards him once more.</p><p>‘Of course,’ Mike thought to himself, ‘today’s payday; he’s stopping at all his clients.’</p><p>He stole another glance at the mirror.  Pettis was very near, walking close to the store fronts, checking them out.  Reflexively, Mike picked up the walkie-talkie lying on the seat beside him and put it in his lap so it was out of sight.</p><p>“Excuse me, sir,” he heard loudly in his right ear and he turned.  A smiling Andy Pettis was leaning in the passenger side window.  “Sir, you’re parked too close to the fire hydrant.  You have to move your car.”</p><p>Mike could feel the blood pounding in his ears.  He knew instantly he couldn’t argue and would have to comply.  He smiled, pretending to be more flustered than he was.  “Oh, ah, yes, ah, sorry, Officer, it was the only space I could find.  I’m, ah, I’m waiting for my wife.  I’ll move.”  He reached for the key and started to turn it.</p><p>The passenger door opened and Pettis slid into the front seat.  He had his service revolver in his hand and he was holding it low and out of sight.  Mike froze, his eyes on the gun pointed at his stomach.  </p><p>“Don’t do anything stupid, Lieutenant,” Pettis growled softly.  “Just start the car and get us out of here.”  He reached out with his free hand and took the walkie talkie from Mike’s lap, dropping it into the well at his feet.</p><p>“Andy, you don’t need to do this,” the older man started softly.</p><p>“You underestimated me, Mike.  Why don’t you just shut up and start the car -“ Pettis began, raising the gun, his finger on the trigger, then froze, flinching as something hard and metallic slammed into his skull just behind his right ear.</p><p>“You so much as twitch, Andy, and they’ll be washing your brains out of the inside of this car.”</p><p>Mike looked past Pettit’s head and made eye contact with his partner then reached out and took the .38 from the stunned patrolman’s hand.  “I think you underestimated us, Andy… wouldn’t you say, Steve?”</p><p>“Definitely,” the inspector said, keeping his eyes and gun glued to the back of Pettis’s head as he opened the door.  “Get out.  And keep your hands where I can see them.”</p><p>As Pettis struggled awkwardly to get out of the car without using his hands, Mike reached into the well and snagged the walkie-talkie.  He told the teams on the other street to join him then got out of the car.  Steve and Pettis were on the sidewalk; the sight of a young man with a gun, in street clothes, standing behind a uniformed patrolman assuming the position against the side of a dark blue sedan was beginning to draw a crowd.  </p><p>As Mike circled the car, he slipped his badge out of his pocket and waved it towards the curious, and increasingly alarmed, bystanders.  “It’s okay, folks.  We’re cops.”  He made eye contact with Steve as he stepped up onto the sidewalk and they both smiled in relief.  Quickly, almost as if he couldn’t stop himself, Mike put his hand on the back of the younger man’s neck and squeezed.</p><p>Two unmarked LTDs squealed around the corner and slammed to a stop and four IA detectives that Steve sort of recognized bailed out quickly.  Mike pulled them aside and began to bring them up to speed as the three Daly City plainclothes officers joined the small group.</p><p>Leaning on his hands against the car, Pettis looked over his shoulder at Steve, who had lowered his .38 but was still on high alert.  “This isn’t what it looks like, you know.”</p><p>“No?  Then what the hell does it look like, Andy?  You tell me.”</p><p>“The shakedown racket… it isn’t just me.  I’m just a cog in a bigger wheel.”</p><p>“Yeah, well tell that to them,” Steve nodded towards the group of IA detectives with Mike.  “I’m with Homicide, remember?”</p><p>“Then why the hell are you here?”</p><p>“Because nobody pulls a gun on my partner,” Steve spat out.  “Nobody.”</p><p># # # # #</p><p>Steve was sitting at Mike’s desk in the IA office, doodling on a pad, glancing through the glass door into the crowded inner office.  He could see the back of his partner’s head; Mike was nodding.</p><p>Steve glanced at his watch and smiled to himself.  It had been several hours since they’d brought Pettis back to the Hall; it was turning out to be just the beginning of the protection racket investigation.</p><p>The small office door opened and people began streaming out.  Mike was in the middle of the pack and he crossed to his desk, taking his ballcap out of his back pocket and putting it on, his eyebrows raised as he made eye contact with the young man sitting behind it.  “Let’s get outa here.”</p><p>Steve stood, nodding towards the others who were scattering throughout the large, desk-filled room.  “What’s the consensus?”</p><p>“Well, Pettis keeps insisting it’s a lot larger than just him, so they’re going to look into it, of course.  There’s a lot at stake right now.  This could turn out to be really, really big.”  He exhaled loudly, shaking his head.  “Ah, George told me, ah, it’s out of my hands now.  He’s turning it over to his own lieutenants.”</p><p>Steve stared at the older man; he knew how much Mike revered the department and any whiff of scandal tore him apart.  If this turned out to be as big as Pettis was asserting…. “Come on, let’s go,” he urged, patting Mike on the back briefly as he turned to the door.  Frowning, Mike followed. </p><p>When they got into the hallway, Steve waited a beat and fell into step beside his partner.  He smiled slightly.  “You know, when you asked me last night what I was doing today, I really didn’t expect to have such a hands-on roll in your little sting.”  He glanced at Mike, his smile getting bigger.  “You read him perfectly.”</p><p>Mike stuffed his hands into his pockets, shrugging.  “I got lucky.”</p><p>“Bullshit,” Steve chuckled.</p><p>The older man glanced at him and grinned.  “I’m glad you were there.”</p><p>“I’m glad I was too.”</p><p>They arrived at the elevators.  As Steve pushed the button, Mike looked at his watch.  “Damn it!”  His eyes widened as he stared at his partner in a sudden panic.  “Jeannie!”</p><p>Steve glanced at his own watch.  “Is it too late to pick her up?”</p><p>Mike nodded furiously, pushing the DOWN button repeatedly.  </p><p>“I’m sure she’ll realize you got tied up and take a cab home, right?”</p><p>“She’s gonna kill me,” the older man mumbled under his breath, “I promised her I’d be there…”</p><p>“She’s just spent six weeks in New York City, Mike.  I think she can take a cab home from the airport.  She’ll probably be there when you get home.”</p><p>“When we get home.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“I’m not facing her by myself.  You’re coming with me.  When she sees your face, she’ll spend more time worrying about you than being mad at me.”  The elevator door opened and he stepped into the car, turning around and grinning.  “Don’t just stand there, get in!”</p>
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<a name="section0035"><h2>35. Chapter 35</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Mike turned the knob and opened the door slowly, trying not to make any noise.  Before stepping over the threshold he stuck his head into the house and looked around.  Exhaling softly, he glanced over his shoulder as he almost tiptoed into the living room, a large paper bag, it’s top folded and stapled closed with a bill and menu attached, in one hand.  “She must be upstairs,” he whispered.</p><p>Shaking his head and smiling, Steve followed his partner into the house, turning around and closing the door soundly.  Mike spun towards him, eyes wide, looking betrayed.</p><p>“Mike?!  Is that you?!” </p><p>Involuntarily the older man ducked, glancing up the stairs before turning his woe-filled countenance back to Steve, who was trying very hard to suppress a laugh as he continued through the living room into the kitchen, taking the bag from Mike’s hand as he passed.</p><p>Looking towards the stairs again, Mike stuttered, “Ah, yeah, Jeannie… it’s, ah, it’s me…”</p><p>There was the sound of footsteps in the second floor hallway and suddenly Jeannie was bouncing down the stairs.  By the time she got to the bottom step, her father had recovered his equilibrium and was facing her with open arms and a broad, loving smile.</p><p>“Mike,” she laughed as she raced to him and wrapped her arms around him, “I’ve missed you.”</p><p>He pulled her to his chest, kissing the top of her head.  “I’ve missed you too, sweetheart.  I’m so glad you’re finally home.”  He rocked her back and forth and felt her arms tighten around him even more.</p><p>“Oooo, I’m so glad to be home.”  She squeezed him then leaned back and looked up at his face, beaming.  She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him.  </p><p>“I am so sorry I didn’t pick you up -“</p><p>“I knew you were probably busy,” she cut him off with a laugh.  “I’m a cop’s daughter, remember?  It’s not the first time and it probably won’t be the last, right?”  She tightened her grip on him again and winked.</p><p>He pulled her against his chest again.  “I know I keep saying this, but I’m a lucky man.”</p><p>“Yes, you are,” she mumbled into his shirt and he laughed, then dropped his right hand and smacked her bottom.</p><p>“Hey!” she laughed, pulling out of his grasp and taking a step back.  She stopped suddenly and cocked her head, sniffing the air.  “Wait, is that Chinese food I smell?”</p><p>“It sure is,” came a familiar voice from her left and her head snapped in that direction.  Steve was leaning, arms folded and legs crossed, against the kitchen doorway, grinning.</p><p>“Steve!” She squealed as she crossed the distance between them in a heartbeat, her arms wide.  He just had time to push himself away from the wall and uncross his arms before she enveloped him in a hug.  “I didn’t know you were here!”</p><p>Looking at Mike over her shoulder, his smile lighting his eyes, he wrapped both arms around her.  “Your father insisted I come,” he said through a chuckle as she started to pull back and look up at him.</p><p>“I’m glad he -“  Her smile disappeared.  “Oh my god, what happened to you?!”  Mike winced at the shock in her voice, instantly grateful that Steve would have to be the one to do the explaining.  Jeannie turned towards him.  “Why didn’t you tell me Steve’d been hurt?” she almost yelled at her father.</p><p>Mike’s eyes shot wide and he held his hands out helplessly.</p><p>She spun back to the younger man, raising her right hand to gently touch his cheek.  “You broke your jaw?”</p><p>Steve was smiling benignly, trying to take the gravity out of her apprehension.  “I’m okay, really, it’s almost completely healed.”</p><p>She was staring at him with an almost motherly concern.  “What happened?”</p><p>He took her arm and started to turn towards the kitchen.  “How about I tell you all about it over dinner?  The food’s getting cold.”</p><p>She allowed herself to be gently led into the kitchen.  Steve glanced back at Mike and smiled with a silent chuckle.  The older man rolled his eyes and sighed soundlessly as he followed.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>Over the delicious meal of fried rice, garlic ribs, chop suey and chow mein for father and daughter, and wonton soup for Steve, the younger man regaled Jeannie with the story of his injury and she told him all about her adventures in The Big Apple.  Mike, not really being a part of either tale, watched with paternal benevolence as his two favourite people enjoyed the good food and each other’s company.  After what he and the young man across the table had been through in the past few weeks, this was a night that both of them needed very badly.</p><p>“Mike…?”</p><p>Shaking his head almost imperceptibly, he brought his focus back to the moment.  “Uh, sorry, what…?”</p><p>Jeannie was staring at him with an amused and patient smile.  “Steve said you haven’t been able to get anywhere with that case you were working on when I left?”</p><p>“You mean the Goodman case?”</p><p>Both younger people nodded.</p><p>Mike shrugged.  “Nope, not a thing.  Both of us,” he included Steve with a quick glance, “have gone over everything we’ve got, and we even had Norm Haseejian take a look at everything, and we’ve still got nothing.”</p><p>She reached across the table and laid her hand on his.  “You’ll solve it, I know you will.”</p><p>He smiled, raising his other hand.  “Your lips to…”  He pointed up with his index finger and chuckled.</p><p>She patted his hand then sat back, looking at Steve.  “So, did Mike ask you to dinner tomorrow night?  I’m gonna pick up a pot roast tomorrow.”</p><p>“Yes, he did and yes, I’ll be here.”</p><p>“Good,” she grinned, looking at her father.  “So you’re going to take the day off tomorrow and come shopping with me?”</p><p>Smiling, Mike picked the napkin off his lap and dropped it on his dirty plate.  “I sure am.”  He eyed Steve mischievously.  “I’d invite him to join us but he has some bread-making to do.”</p><p>Frowning in confusion, Jeannie’s head turned slowly in Steve’s direction.  “What?”</p><p>Mike nodded vigorously.  “Oh yeah.  What, I didn’t tell you?  Oh, you gotta hear about -“  The phone rang.  “I’ll get that,” he said quickly, getting up and looking at Steve as he left the kitchen to take the call in the living room.  “You gotta tell her all about your sourdough.”  His laugh followed him out of the room.</p><p>“Sourdough…?”</p><p># # # # #</p><p>Mike returned to the kitchen a few minutes later.  “Sorry, sweetheart, change of plans for tomorrow.”  He glanced at Steve as he sat down.  “That was Rudy.  I have a meeting with him and the Chief tomorrow morning.”  He raised his eyebrows.</p><p>Steve inclined his head slightly.  “You think they’re going to let you come back to Homicide early?”</p><p>The older man shrugged.  “I don’t know.”</p><p>Jeannie was looking back and forth between them, stopping on her father.  “Why would they let you go back early?”</p><p>Smiling at his partner, Steve answered her.  “Well, your dad managed to, almost single-handedly, take a crooked cop off the streets and may have exposed a… well, a bigger conspiracy at the same time.”</p><p>Her eyes wide, Jeannie looked from Steve to Mike. “What?”</p><p>Her father shrugged slightly again, looking away and clearing his throat.  “I, ah, I got lucky.”  He looked up at her quickly and raised a forefinger.  “And you can’t ask me anything else about it, it’s still an open case.”</p><p>She smiled proudly.  “Like I said before, I’m a cop’s daughter, and I know how to keep my lips zipped.”  She mimed closing a zipper over her mouth and tossing away the key.  Her father chuckled.  “But good for you, Daddy.”</p><p>He bowed his head slightly.  “Thank you.”</p><p>“Well, I think they’d be nuts not to let you go back to Homicide,” Steve groused as he got up, picking up his bowl and Jeannie’s plate and taking them to the counter. </p><p>She got up, taking Mike’s plate.  “When can you go back?”  </p><p>“Well, anytime, if I want, and sit behind a desk.  I haven’t yet, really, but if Mike goes back, I will too.”</p><p>She smiled.  “So, ah, do both of you want coffee?”</p><p>“Yes, please,” Steve answered with a chuckle.</p><p>“Oh, ah, yeah… about the coffee…” Mike began tentatively, raising a forefinger.</p><p># # # # # </p><p>“Norm has great taste,” Jeannie chuckled, both hands wrapped around the large mug of steaming hot coffee.</p><p>“Yes, he does,” Mike intoned flatly.  Steve glanced at him and laughed.</p><p>“Who’da thought, eh?”</p><p>Jeannie kicked her father gently under the table.  “Oh, come on, Daddy, you can afford it.  Consider it a fringe benefit for a job well done.”</p><p>Mike bobbled his head with a facial shrug.  “Yeah, maybe you’re right.”</p><p>She laughed and glanced at Steve, who grinned back at her.  </p><p>The phone rang again.  Frowning, Mike glanced at the others before putting his cup down on the kitchen table and getting to his feet.  “Jeez, who’s calling this time…” he grumbled as he left the room once more.</p><p>“Hello?”</p><p>“Lieutenant Stone?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“Lieutenant, you don’t know me.  My name is Charles Tyson and I’m a stringer with The Chronicle.  Herb Caen said I should give you a call.”</p><p>“Okay.  Ah, what about?”</p><p>“Well, ah, this is kinda from left field, but Mr. Caen said you were the detective in charge of the investigation into the murders of the Goodman family a couple of months back.  Is that right?”</p><p>“Yes, it is.”</p><p>“Ah, well, Lieutenant, I’ve got some information that I think might help you with the case.”</p><p>“You do know the case is closed, right?  It was officially ruled a murder-suicide.”</p><p>“Yes, I know.  But I have some information that says otherwise.”</p><p>“I see.”</p><p>“Uh, I’d really like to talk to you about it… in person, sir.  Not over the phone… I don’t trust phones… and I like to look into the face of the person I’m talking to.”</p><p>“All right.  When would you like to meet?”</p><p>“Tonight, if that’s okay with you?  There’s a great little diner over in Dogpatch - stays open late and they’re usually not too busy this time of night.”</p><p>Mike glanced at his watch.  8:13.  “Sure.  Ah, what’s the address?”  He picked up the pen that was lying on the small pad next to the phone.  “Okay, ah, I can be there around 9.”</p><p>“Great.  I’ll be waiting in a booth at the back.”  </p><p>The line went dead.  Mike looked at the receiver pensively before he hung up.  He tore the top sheet off the pad, folded it and stuffed it into his pants pocket before returning to the kitchen.  He crossed to his spot at the table and picked up his coffee cup.  He smiled wryly at his daughter before he took a sip.  “Ah, sorry, sweetheart, but I’ve gotta go out.”</p><p>“What?  At this hour?”</p><p>He looked at Steve and raised his eyebrows.  “That was someone with a possible lead on the Goodman case.”</p><p>Steve frowned.  “Who?”</p><p>Mike shook his head.  “I don’t know.  Some newspaper guy.  He doesn’t want to tell me anything over the phone so I’m meeting him in a diner over in Dogpatch.”</p><p>“Do you want me to go with you?”</p><p>“No, I think I should go alone.”</p><p>“Daddy…”</p><p>Mike looked at his daughter and smiled.  “Honey, we do this all the time.  There’s nothing to be worried about.”  He put the cup down and started from the room.  “I shouldn’t be long.”  They could hear him getting his windbreaker, and probably his fedora, out of the closet,  pick up his car keys and leave the house.</p><p>Steve looked at Jeannie and shrugged.  “He won’t be long.  I’ll stay until he gets back, okay?  And you can finish telling me all about New Yawk…” he chuckled.</p><p>She glared at him with a playfully annoyed frown.  “That’s a terrible accent…”</p><p>“Hey, I can’t open my mouth.  Cut me some slack, will ya?”</p>
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<a name="section0036"><h2>36. Chapter 36</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Betty’s was a small, clean, brightly-lit diner nestled between a couple of very large warehouses.  Mike took his fedora off as he stepped through the door, nodding with a smile at the waitress as he started towards the booths against the far wall, only one of them occupied.</p><p>A young man with a shock of light brown hair and a boyish face, dressed in a jacket and tie in colours very reminiscent of his own partner, was leaning over the table, writing in a small spiral notebook.  Mike slid onto the opposite bench seat, tossing his hat on the table near the wall.  “Charles Tyson?”</p><p>The young man looked up and smiled slightly.  He nodded and extended his right hand.  “Lieutenant Stone?”</p><p>“Call me Mike,” the veteran cop replied as he shook Tyson’s hand.</p><p>“Thank you.  And please call me Charlie.  Would you like a coffee?” the younger man asked, gesturing at his own cup.  The waitress was approaching the table.</p><p>“Sure.”</p><p>Tyson glanced at the waitress and pointed at his cup.  She nodded and turned around.  “Thanks for coming, Lieu- ah, sorry, Mike.  I wasn’t sure if you believed me.”</p><p>“Well, ah, it depends on what you have to tell me, Charlie.”</p><p>“Fair enough,” the younger man chuckled.  “Listen, ah, I work the crime beat and, like I said, I’m just a stringer working my way up.  But I’ve had my byline on a couple of big stories already, and one of them was the Goodman murders.”</p><p>Mike smiled wryly.  “Sorry, but I haven’t had much time to read the paper lately…”</p><p>Tyson laughed.  “Not to worry.”  The waitress approached their table with Mike’s coffee and he waited till she had left to continue.  “Well, just so you know, I never believed it was a murder-suicide either, and I was more than shocked by O’Donnell’s conclusion.  I was even gonna write an article on it but my editor didn’t think it was, ah… appropriate.”</p><p>Mike took a sip of the coffee and winced slightly; it definitely wasn’t Kona.  He mentally cursed Norm Haseejian once again.  “What made you think it wasn’t a murder-suicide?”</p><p>“Well, I’m new at this, Lieutenant - sorry, Mike, but she just didn’t fit the profile, right?  I mean, yeah, I’ve heard of postpartum depression and I found out about her mother’s suicide and all that, but everybody I talked to told me she was over the moon about that kid, and that she really did love her husband.  So it didn’t make any sense to me…”  He shrugged almost helplessly.</p><p>Mike put the mug down.  He was becoming more and more impressed by the young man sitting opposite him.  “So what is it you want to tell me?”</p><p>Tyson took a deep breath, picked up his cup and took a sip then put it down deliberately.  “I got a call today… from someone I don’t know.  A man.  I didn’t recognize the voice, he didn’t give me his name, nothing…. But he told me that, among many things, he knew who was responsible for that triple murder… he knew who killed the Goodman family.”</p><p>Though he stayed outwardly calm and impassive, Mike’s heart started to pound; he leaned forwards slightly, resting his forearms on the table.  He waited, letting the young newspaperman feed him the information in his own way.</p><p>“He said that this person didn’t do the actual murders, that it was someone else who actually pulled the trigger, but he did set it up… he arranged for it… all of it.”  Tyson was looking straight into Mike’s eyes.</p><p>“And who would that be?”</p><p>Tyson exhaled slowly and loudly.  “Walter Northcott.”</p><p>Mike froze then frowned slightly, cocking his head.  “Jane Goodman’s brother?” he asked quietly.</p><p>The younger man nodded.  “That’s what he said, he didn’t elaborate.  And when I asked him to be more specific about the how and the why, he hung up.”</p><p>The detective sat back, his mind racing; to Tyson he seemed pensive.  “You, ah, you could’ve told me this over the phone…”</p><p>The reporter smiled.  “I know… but like I said, I like to look into the face of the person I’m talking to… and I have an ulterior motive, to be perfectly honest.”</p><p>Mike’s eyes narrowed; he knew that this would be coming and he was impressed that Tyson was being as forthright as he seemed.</p><p>Tyson cleared his throat nervously.  “It’s, ah, it’s nothing too out of the ordinary, I would think, Lieutenant,” he said softly and Mike smiled at the use of his rank instead of his name.  “I just want to be the reporter who breaks the story… if indeed it turns out to be the story I think it is.  In other words, sir, I want an exclusive.”  He finished with a perfunctory nod, placidly meeting the stare of the intense blue eyes opposite him.</p><p>Though he didn’t show it, and wouldn’t mention it, Mike was very impressed by this young man who reminded him so very much of his own partner, beyond the taste in clothes.  He leaned forward slowly.  “Do you have a card?”</p><p>It took a second or two for Tyson to realize what the request meant and a smile slowly appeared on his youthful face.  He leaned back slightly and reached into his jacket pocket, holding the small white business card across the table.  With a slight smile, Mike took it and slid it into his shirt pocket.  He picked up the fedora and stood.  “We’ll be in touch,” he said with a barely perceptible nod as he turned away from the table.  “Thanks for the coffee,” he called over his shoulder as he started across the diner.</p><p>Tyson watched him go.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>The sound of laughter reached his ears as he opened the front door.  He tossed the fedora on the shelf in the closet, the keys on a nearby table and his jacket over the arm of the couch before striding into the kitchen.  Both young people looked up and smiled; relief washed briefly over their faces.  </p><p>“Well, that didn’t take long,” Jeannie chuckled, getting up to pour her father a cup of the freshly brewed coffee.</p><p>“Told you it wouldn’t,” Mike laughed as he crossed to his chair and sat, meeting Steve’s eyes.</p><p>Though Mike didn’t say anything, the younger man could tell something significant had transpired, and that now wasn’t the time nor the place to discuss it.</p><p>Jeannie turned away from the counter with the cup and crossed back to the table, putting it down.  “So, anything you can share?” she asked with a smile as she sat.</p><p>“Actually no,” Mike replied brightly as he picked up the cup and took a sip.  He closed his eyes and moaned with pleasure.  “I’m gonna kill Norm, I really am.  He’s ruined coffee for me now…”</p><p>The other two laughed.  Jeannie looked from one to the other.  “Okay, you two can just sit here and chat or whatever, but I have had a long day.  Don’t forget, I’m still on east coast time.  So I’m going to bed.”  She got up, leaning over the table to kiss her father.  “If you leave before me tomorrow morning, have a great day.  I hope they send you back to Homicide.”  She took a step closer to Steve, bending down to kiss his cheek.  “And you, you have fun baking!” she cackled as she flounced from the kitchen.</p><p>Laughing, they watched her go, then Steve turned to his partner and raised his eyebrows.  Mike leaned forward, resting his forearms against the edge of the table, cradling the cup in both hands.  “That was a call from a young reporter for the Chronicle.  He got an anonymous tip today from some guy who said he knows who killed the Goodman family.”</p><p>Steve’s eye shot wide and he leaned closer to the table as well.  “Who did he say it was?”</p><p>“Walter Northcott.”</p><p>“The brother?”  The incredulity in his voice was unmistakable.</p><p>Mike nodded.  “Yeah, that’s what he said.”</p><p>There was a short silence as both men contemplated the implications.  Steve looked at his partner again.  “Do you believe him?”</p><p>“The reporter?”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>Mike pursed his lips, looking down.  Then he nodded.  “Yeah, yeah, I do.”  He looked up and a wistful smile played across his lips.  “So, ah… do you feel like coming into the office tomorrow to do a little investigating?  ‘Cause I think we need to tear Walter Northcott’s life apart, without him knowing we’re doing it, of course.”</p><p># # # # #</p><p>“Hey, hey,” Haseejian almost yelled across the bullpen when Steve, wearing his usual ‘business attire’, strolled into the Homicide office.  “Have you finally decided to grace us with your presence?”</p><p>Pretending to ignore the Armenian sergeant, Steve turned his smile on Healey, Tanner and Lessing, bobbing his eyebrows.  “I, ah, I figured you guys need the help, so,” he threw his arms wide, “here I am.”</p><p>“Welcome back,” Healey said with a laugh as he gently patted the younger man on the back.</p><p>“Hey, man,” Lessing greeted, shaking Steve’s hand and pulling him close, “great to see you.”</p><p>Tanner high-fived him before leaning close and whispering loudly, “Hey, word has it you and Mike did some mighty fine work yesterday getting a dirty cop off the streets.”</p><p>Steve tilted his head and raised his eyebrows.  “Well, Mike did all the heavy lifting, I just came along for the glory.”</p><p>“Yeah, right,” Tanner chuckled, heading back to his desk.</p><p>“So, are you back for good?” Healey asked.</p><p>The young inspector shrugged.  “I hope so.  I’m stuck behind a desk till I get these off,” he pointed to the wires and elastics in his mouth, “but I have work I can do, I think.”</p><p>“Steve!” came the call of a familiar voice behind him and he turned to see Devitt standing in the open doorway of the inner office.</p><p>“Later, guys,” he nodded at the others as he crossed to the captain, who took a step back for him to enter the office. </p><p>Closing the door, Devitt crossed around to Mike’s chair as Steve dropped into the guest chair.</p><p>“You’re looking good,” Devitt chuckled, his elbows on the desk.  “Are you coming back?”</p><p>Steve nodded once.  “If I can.”</p><p>“Of course you can.  We have lots of work you can do, you know that.”  He glanced through the glass walls into the bullpen and, though it wasn’t necessary, lowered his voice.  “Listen, ah, I just got a call from, ah, the ‘upper echelons’,” he chuckled, using a thumb to gesture surreptitiously at the ceiling, “and it looks like I’ll be heading back to a desk job again before we know it.”</p><p>Steve perked up.  “You mean Mike’s being transferred back here?”</p><p>Devitt smiled.  “That’s the scuttlebutt.”</p><p>The younger man grinned, looking down.  </p><p>“Yeah, ah, from what I’m hearing, the brass are so impressed with what he did in his very limited time,” he chuckled, “in IA that they think he should be taken off the hook, so to speak.”</p><p>“I couldn’t agree more.”</p><p>Devitt laughed.  “Me too.  Anyway, welcome back.”</p><p>“Thank you.”  Steve got up and opened the door.  He looked back.  “Listen, Roy, in case nobody mentions it, you’ve done a hell of a job filling in for Mike, you really have.”</p><p> </p><p>The captain’s head had come up quickly and he was staring at the younger man with a surprised but grateful smile.  It took a beat before he could find his voice.  “Thank you,” he said softly, “that means a lot, I appreciate it.”</p><p>Steve smiled.  “You’re welcome.”  He crossed to his desk, slipping off his jacket and dropping it over the back of the chair.  It seemed like ages since he had done that, and it felt right.</p><p>He had just sat down and was rolling up his sleeves when the outer door opened and Mike, his hat in his hand, walked into the bullpen.  The older man stopped short, meeting his partner’s eyes, and he smiled.</p>
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<a name="section0037"><h2>37. Chapter 37</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Mike closed the door, smiling and shaking his head, and crossed to the chair.  As he sat, he met the warm green eyes staring at him from the guest chair.  Steve was leaning back, his legs crossed and his hands behind his head; he was chuckling softly.</p><p>“They’re a mad bunch,” the older man laughed with a nod through the glass towards the detectives slowly returning to their desks in the bullpen.  He had spent the last five minutes fielding ‘congratulations’ and ‘welcome backs’ from his very happy squad.</p><p>He snapped the gun off his belt and put it in the top drawer then sat slowly, running his hands over the top of the desk almost lovingly.  He looked up at his partner again and smiled self-consciously.  “It feels good to be back,” he chuckled and Steve nodded, bobbing his eyebrows and nodding.  </p><p>Allowing the chair to drop back to the floor, Steve leaned forward, dropping his hands from behind his head.  “So, boss, what do you want to do today?”</p><p>Mike smirked at him briefly, shaking his head in mock exasperation. “Well, I left all the Goodman paperwork at home.  I think you and me can start doing some work on our new lead tomorrow.  I want to get up-to-speed on all the cases that are open, or have been closed, in the past two months, which is kinda my job,” he laughed softly,  “so that’s going to take up most of my day.  How about you?  You got anything?”  </p><p>“Ah, yeah, there’s some things I want to follow up on.  Like the guy who re-arranged my face.”</p><p>Mike chuckled.</p><p>“And I’ve got some paperwork I didn’t get finished before all this happened.  So, yeah, I’ve got a busy day.”</p><p>“Great.  Let’s do that then.”</p><p>Steve got up.</p><p>“Hey, ah,” Mike said quickly, “don’t forget dinner tonight.”</p><p>“Are you kidding?  I can hardly wait to eat pot roast pureed in a blender.  She’s just gotta remember to add the potatoes, carrots and gravy too.”  </p><p>Chuckling and shaking his head, Mike opened a desk drawer and took out a legal length yellow pad and a pen.  “It won’t be too much longer till you’re a ‘free’ man…”  He tapped his jaw with a wry smile.  “And remember, good things come to those who wait.”</p><p>“So says the man with the patience of a junkie in search of his next fix…” Steve muttered under his breath as he headed back to his desk.</p><p>Mike watched him with a frown.  “What?”</p><p># # # # #</p><p>Steve was already at his desk when Mike strolled into the bullpen early the next morning, carrying a briefcase.  The younger man frowned comically.  “So, what, you’re quitting the department and getting a job as an accountant?”</p><p>Mike stopped, shooting his partner a confused look.  “What?”  He followed Steve’s pointed look down at the briefcase.  “Oh,” he chuckled, hefting the leather satchel slightly, “ah, Jeannie got me this for Christmas a few years ago.  Never really had the need to use it before.”  He tapped it with his other hand.  “The Goodman files.”  He continued on to his office, dropping the briefcase on the desk before taking off his jacket and hat.</p><p>Steve wandered over and leaned against the doorframe.  “Thanks again for last night.  Even pureed, Jeannie can cook a mean pot roast.”</p><p>“She can, can’t she?” Mike chuckled as he crossed to the chair, sticking his gun in the top drawer before he sat.  “And you’re welcome again.”</p><p>Steve pushed himself away from the frame, closing the door before dropping into the nearest chair.  “So, how do you want to tackle this?”</p><p>“I’ve been thinking about that,” Mike answered as he opened the briefcase and took the files out.  “We’ve gotta be really circumspect about the whole thing, ‘cause we’re treading on really thin ice here.  And, technically, we’re both still supposed to be on desk duty.  But, as the boss,” he smiled Cheshire-like, “I can assign us whatever I want.  So, as far as everyone else is concerned, except maybe Norm if we really need his help on something, we’re just getting caught up on stuff, and going out to talk to people to put the finishing touches on some of our more recent cases.”  He smiled hopefully.  “How plausible does that sound?”</p><p>“Not bad,” the younger man chuckled.  “So, where do you want to start?”</p><p>Mike snapped the briefcase shut and put it on the floor beside the desk.  “Well, I’ve been thinking about that too.  I think we should take a trip over the Bridge and talk to Mrs. Northcott again about that phone call her husband had with his sister the evening they were murdered.  In hindsight now, that’s sounding more and more suspicious, don’t you think?”</p><p>Steve tilted his head with a facial shrug.  “You want to talk to her now?”</p><p>“Why not?  Her husband should be at work.  And us just dropping by, after all this time, might… just might, mind you… shake her up a little.  If her husband is behind all this, I want to know if she was aware of it, or if she’s somehow involved.  And besides, she might not realize that we really shouldn’t be just dropping around to talk to her after the coroner ruled it a murder-suicide.  He would, but I don’t think she’ll catch on - at least not that fast, I hope.  What do you think?”</p><p>Steve nodded slowly.  “Sounds good to me.”  He started to get to his feet.  “I’ll call down to the motor pool and see if ‘Old Faithful’ is available.  It’s been awhile you know, it might’ve been assigned to someone else.”</p><p>“It better not’ve been,” Mike laughed as Steve opened the door.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>They parked the tan LTD in the same spot they had the first time they visited the well-kept clapboard house with the stunning view.  As they climbed the short, steep driveway, Steve sighed.  “Man, maybe I should’ve gone into insurance instead… gotten myself a sweet little place like this…”</p><p>“Oh, yeah,” Mike intoned dryly, “I could just see you being the guy everybody tries to avoid at parties…”</p><p>Steve chuckled as he pressed the doorbell.  They could hear a dog barking from inside the house, followed by the high-pitched squeal of a child.  The door opened quickly and a frazzled-looking young blond woman, trying to hold back both an excited toddler and a friendly beagle, looked up at them from a half-crouch.  “Yes?”  It was almost a demand.</p><p>Startled, both cops took their badges out of their pockets and held them out.  “Uh, Lieutenant Stone, this is Inspector Keller, San Francisco Police,” Mike started tentatively.  “Is, ah, is Mrs. Northcott at home?”</p><p>“They don’t live here anymore.  We bought this place last month.”</p><p>“Oh, ah, well, ah, do you know where they moved to?”</p><p>“I don’t know where he is,” she said quickly, trying to keep her hands on her charges, blowing stray locks of hair out of her face, “but I have her number somewhere.  She wanted me to let her know if any mail came.”</p><p>“Would you be able to give us the number?  Please?”  Mike bestowed upon her his most disarming smile.</p><p>She looked at them both in frustration and sighed loudly.  “Give me a second,” she growled as she quickly reached for the door and slammed it in their faces.</p><p>The partners looked at each other silently and waited; the barking and squealing, somewhat muted, continued.  About thirty seconds later the door open a crack, the caterwauling increased in volume, and a hand appeared holding a piece of paper.  No sooner had Mike taken it than the door slammed shut again.</p><p>As they headed back down the driveway, they looked at each other.  “So, ah, what do you think that’s all about?”</p><p>Steve shook his head slightly.  “She really has her hands full -“</p><p>“I don’t mean her,” Mike said with a quick dry chuckle, nodding over his shoulder back towards the house, “I meant that the Northcotts don’t live there anymore.”</p><p>“Oh, ah, that sounds odd.”</p><p>“Yeah, I think so too.”  They had reached the car.  Mike picked up the mic as he shut the door and called Dispatch, asking for an address for the phone number.  While they waited for the information, they headed slowly back towards The City.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>The Ford sedan pulled to the curb in front of the modest two-story, beige stucco house in the Sunnydale neighbourhood.  There was no view of the Bay here, no view of The City.  </p><p>Mike knocked on the plain wooden door.  After a moment, it opened slowly.  A startled Mrs. Northcott looked from one smiling detective to the other.  “Oh,” she exclaimed, a hand coming to her mouth, “Lieutenant Stone, I didn’t expect to see you again.”</p><p>“We’re sorry to disturb you, Mrs. Northcott, but we’d like to ask you a few questions, if you don’t mind?”</p><p>Her nervous eyes darted back and forth between them as she weighed his words.  It looked for a moment as if she was going to close the door but she finally took a step back and held it open wider.  She nodded softly.  “Of course, of course… please, come in…”</p><p>She let them into the house, closing the door after them and then leading them into the small living room.  They recognized the floral couch and other furnishings from the Sausalito house.</p><p>“It’s, ah, it’s not Mrs. Northcott anymore, by the way,” she corrected gently as she gestured at the sofa.</p><p>“It’s not?” Steve asked conversationally as they sat on the couch, resisting the urge to look at each other.</p><p>She pursed her lips and shook her head slightly.  “No, I’m afraid not.  Walter and I are in the process of getting divorced.  And, as you no doubt already know, we sold the house in Marin.”</p><p>“I’m sorry to hear that,” Mike started slowly, empathetically, “and I don’t mean to sound prying but…?”</p><p>“Why are we getting divorced?” she finished the thought for him.  He nodded almost sadly.  “Well, Walter seemed to change after Jane was killed.  I don’t know why, really.  I mean, I know it’s a shock… a life-changing shock… when a family member is murdered… but still…”  She shrugged softly, looking confused.</p><p>“How did he change?” Steve asked gently.  “I mean, in what way?”</p><p>“I don’t know, really.  I mean, Walter was always very focused on his job… and he was good at it.  We lived really well… as you know, you saw our house…. But suddenly he quit his job and he said he wanted a divorce, just like that…”. She shrugged again.</p><p>Mike glanced at his partner, his eyes telling the younger man they were going to cut this visit short.  He leaned forward slightly.  “Would you know where Walter is living now?”</p><p>She looked at him kindly, her eyes moist.  She smiled slightly.  “Yes… yes, I have his address.  I’ll get it for you.”  She got up and left the room.</p><p>“We’ll come back,” Mike whispered and Steve nodded.</p><p>When she came back into the room, they both stood.  She smiled at the gallantry, holding out a small piece of pink paper.  “Here’s the address, Lieutenant.”</p><p>“Thank you very much, Mrs. - uh, sorry…”  He smiled an apology.</p><p>“Wilson.  I guess I’m back to being Linda Wilson again but, please, call me Linda.”</p><p>“If you’ll remember to call me Mike,” he said with a charming smile that Steve echoed.</p><p>“Thank you, Mike,” she smiled, but there was a sadness in her voice they knew would be there for a long time.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>Mike slammed the door then looked across the front seat.  “I was not expecting that, were you?”</p><p>Behind the sunglasses he had just put on, Steve shook his head as he put the key in the ignition and started the car.  “Me neither.  So, where do you want to go now?  Northcott’s new place?”</p><p>Mike slouched in the seat.  “No, not yet…” he said slowly.  “I want to have more ammunition before we talk to him again.  I think we have to go to that insurance company he worked for.  If he quit like she said he did, what’s he living on?  I want to talk to his bosses and his co-workers, see if they can shed some light on just how good an insurance broker he was, and then I want us to go through his finances with a fine-toothed comb.”</p><p>“Don’t we need a search warrant for that?” Steve asked facetiously, knowing the answer already, as he pulled the LTD away from the curb.</p><p>“Well, in theory,” Mike chuckled wryly, “if we were doing this on the record.  I’m hoping the insurance company won’t know that and they’ll let us have a look at Northcott’s files without one.”</p><p>“And if they don’t?”</p><p>Mike looked across the front seat and frowned comically.  “Well, then we’ve gotta get really creative.”</p>
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<a name="section0038"><h2>38. Chapter 38</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Bay Area Insurance Company was on California, and finding a parking space was proving to be a problem.  Losing patience, Mike insisted they park in front of a fire hydrant, but when Steve countered that he would be responsible for any forthcoming ticket, the older man relented, with a growl and an irritated frown.  They finally located a spot two streets over.</p><p>The black cloud that was hanging over the lieutenant had dissipated somewhat by the time they finally mounted the three steps to the front of the dark grey marble building with the gold lettering.  Mike flashed his badge at the pretty, young receptionist and asked to see the manager and/or owner.</p><p>“Mr. Acer owns the company.  He’s in his office,” she informed them pleasantly, her eyes on Steve as she lifted the receiver and put it to her ear.  Without looking at Mike, she asked, “Can I tell him what this is about?”</p><p>Mike glanced at his partner, who was smiling charmingly, and swallowed a grin.  “Ah, yes, we’d like to talk to him about Walter Northcott.”</p><p>Her smile disappeared and she dropped her eyes.  “Oh, ah, yes, just a moment.”  She punched a button on the phone and dialed two numbers.  “Mr. Acer, there are two policemen out here who would like to see you about Walter…. Yes, sir.”  She hung up and looked at Mike, her smile automatic and weak.  “He’ll be right out.”</p><p>“Thank you,” Mike nodded, tapping the desk before taking a step back and glancing at his partner.  They were going to have a lot to discuss later.</p><p>A tall, thin, grey-haired man in a very expensive charcoal suit strode confidently into the lobby, already extending his right hand.  “I’m Barkley Acer.  What can I do for you gentlemen?”  His eyes snapped back and forth between them, realizing instantly that Mike was the senior partner and shaking his hand first.</p><p>Mike made the introductions.  </p><p>“Stacy said you wanted to talk to me about Walter Northcott?”</p><p>“Yes,” Mike nodded congenially, “if you don’t mind.”</p><p>“Not at all.  Please, come to my office.”  He began to lead them down the corridor.</p><p>The office was lavish, a large wood-paneled room with framed certificates on one wall, a bookshelf filled with professional tomes on another, a large wooden desk and several very plush leather chairs.  Acer sat behind the desk; the detectives settled into the armchairs, Mike balancing his hat on one knee.</p><p>“So,” Acer asked, “what do you want to know about Walter?”</p><p>“Well, his wife told us that he quit his job a few weeks back,” Steve began with a slight smile, “and we were wondering if he gave you any reason for that?”</p><p>“Does this have anything to do with his sister’s murder?”</p><p>“Why would you ask that?” Mike countered affably.</p><p>Acer frowned slightly, looking from one detective to the other.  “Well, he said he quit because of that… that he couldn’t come to grips with it, that kind of thing.  But he didn’t seem all that broken up to me, even the day he got the news.”</p><p>“He was here for a meeting that day, isn’t that right?” Steve asked.</p><p>Acer nodded.  “Yes.  Yes, it was our monthly company meeting and attendance is compulsory.  I had no idea about his sister, of course, or I would’ve made an exception.”  He shrugged slightly, apologetically.  </p><p>“Did he seem upset that day?”</p><p>“Well, no… and that’s the thing I thought was so strange after I found out what had happened.  He seemed his normal self.  It wasn’t until later we were told what had happened.  We were all shocked and devastated for him.”</p><p>“He continued to come to work?”</p><p>“Yes, he did.  I mean, he missed some time between the…well, the murders and the funeral, but he still managed to put a few hours in during that time anyway.  I told him he didn’t have to but…. Well, he said he had clients he had to serve…”</p><p>“When exactly did he quit?” Mike asked.</p><p>“I guess it was about two weeks later, about five weeks ago, I guess.”</p><p>“And his clients?  They were assigned to someone else?”</p><p>Acer nodded.  “Yes.  One of our junior brokers.  Most of Walter’s clients were long-timers so there’s very little hands-on work, it’s just maintenance mostly.”</p><p>“Would it be possible for us to talk to this junior broker?”</p><p>“Kelly?  Sure, I can set that up.  He’s here right now.  I’ll introduce you.”  Acer frowned.  “Is there anything specific you’re looking for?”</p><p>“No, not really,” Mike smiled, shaking his head slightly.  “We just want to dot a few i’s and cross a few t’s before we wrap up the case.”</p><p>“I, ah… I thought it was already closed…  That Walter’s sister did it…”</p><p>“Well,” Mike began slowly, “that’s the official conclusion, yes, but we want to make sure we haven’t left anything, you know, hanging…”</p><p>Acer looked back and forth between the two slightly smiling detectives and nodded.  “Okay.  Anything we can do to help.”  He began to stand.  “It always bothered me to think that a woman would kill her husband and baby and then kill herself.  It just didn’t… feel right, if you know what I mean.”  He had crossed around the desk; the cops stood.</p><p>“I know exactly what you mean,” Mike agreed with a sad smile as they followed Acer out the door and down the corridor.  </p><p>He led them into a large, open concept office.  There were about ten desks in the room, all of them manned, most of the brokers on the phone.  Bay Area Insurance was obviously a going concern.</p><p>They stopped beside the desk of a young blond man, in shirtsleeves and his tie loosened, with a receiver pressed to his ear.  He glanced up, his eyes widening when he saw his boss standing over his desk, mumbled a few words and hung up.  “Ah, Mr. Acer -“</p><p>The older man smiled.  “Kelly Breen, this is Lieutenant Stone and Inspector Keller from the police.”  Both detectives nodded.  “They’d like to ask you some questions about Walter Northcott’s files.  I’d appreciate it if you could give them any help you can.”</p><p>“Ah, yes, sir, of course,” Breen stammered, obviously nervous to have his boss single him out, but relieved to know he wasn’t in trouble.</p><p>Acer turned to the cops.  “Gentlemen, I hope this helps.  And if there’s anything else I can do, please let me know.”  </p><p>“Thank you very much,” Mike smiled as the company owner shook their hands again and headed back to his office.</p><p>Breen looked up at them with a slightly anxious smile.  “Um, ah, what can I do for you?”</p><p>Steve took a step closer to the desk.  “We heard that you’ve inherited Walter Northcott’s clients.”</p><p>“Oh yeah, I sure have.”  He moved his chair back and pointed into the well under the desk.  Both detectives bent over slightly and looked; at the back of the well was a large stack of thick legal-length manila file folders.  “That’s only half of them,” Breen complained good-naturedly as the cops straightened up.</p><p>“I take it you haven’t had time to go through them yet?” Steve asked, frowning slightly.  </p><p>Breen shook his head.  “I’ve been really busy these past couple of weeks.  A lot of people are buying life insurance all of a sudden.”  He raised his eyebrows and shrugged.  “I have no idea why…”</p><p>Mike nodded slowly.  “Mr. Breen, would it be possible for us to borrow those files for awhile, so we can go through them?  I promise we’ll have them back in a couple of days.”</p><p>They could see the young broker working through the subtle demand.  They knew it wasn’t a normal request, and company policy probably dictated that these files were not to be shared with anyone, let alone removed from the office.  But Mr. Acer had told him to do everything he could to help so…</p><p>“I, ah, I don’t see why not,” Breen said finally with another shrug.  “Do you need them all?” he asked hesitantly, his tone suggesting there were a lot more files somewhere else.</p><p>“Ah, no,” Mike said with a chuckle, “I think that stack,” he pointed under the desk, “should do the trick.”</p><p>“Great,” Breen said, getting to his feet, “I’ll find a box.”</p><p># # # # #</p><p>They were heading back to the office with a large cardboard box of files in the back seat.</p><p>Mike glanced over his shoulder.  “It sure looks like we’ve got our work cut out for us, although I’m not really sure what we’re going to be looking for,” he chuckled.  “What do you know about insurance, buddy boy?”</p><p>Behind the dark glasses, Steve grinned.  “Me?  Nothing.  I know I have a policy on my car and my apartment but that’s it.”</p><p>“No life insurance?”</p><p>“No.  I don’t have anybody to make that a viable option for me.  Maybe if I get married…. What about you?”</p><p>“Oh, yeah.  Helen made sure of that.  But it turned out it was her policy we needed, not mine…”  His voice went soft and faraway.</p><p>Steve nodded, letting the silence lengthen between them.</p><p>“Ah, listen,” Mike said finally, “find out what time Bay Area Insurance closes tonight, will ya?”</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>“‘Cause I think you need to do a little ‘after hours’ investigation.”</p><p>Steve shot a confused look across the front seat.  “What do you mean?”</p><p>“You saw the look on the receptionist’s face when we mentioned Walter Northcott.  I think she has something to tell us, don’t you?”</p><p>“So you want me to…?”</p><p>“Meet her when she gets off work, buy her a drink…. I don’t think I have to tell you what to do now, do I?”</p><p>They both chuckled.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>The waitress set the glass of Chardonnay and the tall, frosty glass of ice-cold Bud on the table.  As she walked away, Steve picked up the beer and held it out.  With a shy smile, Stacy Ann Miller picked up the wine and gently clinked it against the beer glass.</p><p>Steve had been waiting for her outside the insurance company when she stepped out the door just after 5 pm.  He approached her with a smile, and she blushed when she saw him.  And when he asked if she would join him for a drink so he could talk to her about Walter Northcott, she readily agreed.</p><p>She took a sip of the Northern California vintage then put the glass down with a slight smile, keeping her fingers on the base of the glass and looking down.  “So, ah,” she began softly, “what do you want to know about Walter?”</p><p>Steve swallowed a mouthful of beer and smiled.  He chuckled slightly, intrigued by her almost reluctant eagerness.  “How long did you know him?”</p><p>“Well, I started working at BA two years ago so… about two years, I guess.”  </p><p>“Was he a nice guy to work for?”</p><p>“Well, I never really worked for him… I mean, I’m just the receptionist.  But he was okay.  He was kinda bland, I thought.  But he was a very good broker… at least I think he was.  He was always selling policies.”</p><p>“Did you ever meet his wife Linda?”</p><p>“A couple of times, yeah.  At Christmas parties.  She seemed nice.”  She looked at him, the smile disappearing.  “I think it was awful what Walter did to her… the divorce.  But maybe it was for the best.”</p><p>Steve felt his heart skip a beat.  “What do you mean by that?” he asked casually.</p><p>She looked down, waiting a heart-stopping moment before she said, “She was too good for him.”</p><p>“In what way?”</p><p>She hesitated again, as if debating with herself how much she should say.  “Listen, ah, this might be just gossip… and my mother always told me not to spread gossip but…”  She paused again, glancing around the crowded bar as if afraid someone would recognize her.  She leaned closer to him over the table.  “Well, word around the office was… Walter had girlfriends, a lot of girlfriends.”</p><p>Steve frowned.  He had met Walter Northcott, and he didn’t look like a Lothario.  “How do you know that?”</p><p>“Brenda, Mr. Acer’s secretary?  She saw Walter in an expensive restaurant downtown one night, with a woman that wasn’t his wife.  And a little later, one of the junior brokers said he saw him at The Top of the Mark with another woman.  There was a lot of talk around the office… but I don’t think he was aware of it, the talk that is.”</p><p>“Did Mr. Acer know?”</p><p>She shook her head.  “I don’t think so… we were pretty careful when we talked about it.”  She looked him in the eye.  “But those of us ‘on the floor’ so to speak?  Well, everybody knew…”</p>
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<a name="section0039"><h2>39. Chapter 39</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Mike made a note on the pad, flipped through the file pages, found what he was looking for and made another note.  He exhaled quickly and loudly.  A noise from the bullpen almost penetrated his concentration but he didn’t bother to look up.  He flipped another page.</p><p>The loud clearing of a throat finally broke through and he looked over the top of his glasses, frowning.  The bullpen lights were off and Steve was leaning against his office door, his arms crossed and a knowing smile on his face.  “I thought you were going to take a cab home?”</p><p>Mike frowned.  “What time is it?”  He glanced at his watch: 9:45.  “Good lord.”  He looked up at his partner.  “Guess I lost track of time…”</p><p>“I guess you did.  Did you call Jeannie to tell her you weren’t coming home for dinner?”</p><p>“No, ah, she called me actually… about two hours ago, I guess.”  He shrugged self-consciously.  </p><p>Steve gestured at the stacks of files and papers on the desk.  “Are you finding anything?”</p><p>Mike glanced down and shrugged.  “I’m not sure.  I want to talk to an insurance broker to see if I’m right but, ah, yeah, maybe…. Say, did you take that receptionist out?  What was her name….?”</p><p>“Stacy.”</p><p>“Yeah, Stacy.  Did you take her out for a drink?”</p><p>Grinning, Steve pushed himself away from the doorframe, crossing deeper into the room.  “Yes, I did.”  He dropped into the guest chair.</p><p>Mike took off his glasses and tossed them on the desk.  “And?”</p><p>“And she had a very interesting nugget of information about our Mr. Northcott?”</p><p>“Oh, she did, did she?”  Mike leaned forward, his weight on his forearms, and smiled.  “And what was that?”</p><p>“Well, it turns our Mr. Northcott was a bit of a player.”</p><p>“A player?  You mean, with the ladies?”</p><p>Steve nodded, raising his eyebrows.</p><p>Mike closed his eyes briefly, shaking his head in almost cartoonish exaggeration.  “What?”</p><p>“I know.  Surprised the hell out of me too.”</p><p>“He had a girlfriend?”</p><p>“Girlfriends.  A number of them, from what I was told.”</p><p>“And you got this from Stacy the receptionist?”</p><p>“Umh-humh.  Well, Stacy and her friend Brianna, who’s a secretary in the same firm.  We, ah, we bumped into Brianna at the restaurant we went to and she joined us.  Between the two of them, I got quite the little discourse in Walter Northcott’s peccadillos.”</p><p>Mike snorted.  “It’s more than just a ‘little sin’ to some people, buddy boy.”  He leaned back slightly, dropping his hands into his lap and staring at the desktop, frowning.  “Well, that gives us another little piece of the puzzle that is becoming Walter Northcott, isn’t it?”</p><p>“Umh-humh…”</p><p>Mike looked up.  “What did she have to say about Walter Northcott, the insurance broker?”</p><p>Steve tilted his head.  “Well, seems he was great at what he did, sold a lot of policies,” he gestured at the files on the desk with a chuckle, “and got along with everybody.  Nothing bad, really.”</p><p>“Except the infidelity…”</p><p>“Yeah, except the infidelity.”  He shrugged.  “Listen, ah, it’s late.  Why don’t I drive you home and we can get an early start on this,” he gestured at the files again, “tomorrow morning.”</p><p>Mike looked down at his desk and pursed his lips.  “That sounds like a good idea.”  Chuckling softly, he got to his feet, starting to roll his sleeves down.  He tried unsuccessfully to stifle a yawn.</p><p>Getting up and taking two slow steps towards the door, Steve suppressed a laugh.  “Did you eat?”</p><p>Buttoning his right cuff, Mike froze momentarily.  “No, I don’t think I did, actually…”  He looked at the younger man and laughed.  </p><p>“You want to stop -“</p><p>Mike waved away the offer.  “Naw, I’ll grab something when I get home.  There’s some leftover pot roast I can heat up.”  He yawned again.</p><p>Steve chuckled.  “Let’s get you home before you fall asleep on your feet.”</p><p># # # # #</p><p>The concrete steps seemed a lot higher and steeper than usual and by the time he put the key in the lock and opened the door, he was exhausted.  The living room was dark, the only illumination the spill from the small light above the stove in the kitchen.  </p><p>He closed the door quietly, slipping off his shoes, tossing his hat on the shelf in the closet and <br/>dropping his jacket on the arm of the couch before he tiptoed into the kitchen.  He turned a dial on the top of the stove, then made a plate of pot roast and potatoes and stuck it in the oven.</p><p>He sat at the table, running his hands over his face.  It had been a very long day, much longer than he had intended.  He left shoulder had started to ache.  Leaning back and closing his eyes, he rubbed his right palm slowly over still-healing scar.</p><p>“Are you all right?” the soft voice cut through his lethargy and he started, wincing slightly as he dropped his right hand to his lap.  In her pajamas and robe, Jeannie was standing in the doorway, staring at him with a worried frown.</p><p>He broke into a smile.  “Hi, sweetheart,” he chuckled warmly.</p><p>“Are you okay?” she repeated, taking a step closer to the table.</p><p>“I’m fine.”</p><p>“Then why were you massaging your shoulder.  Did you get hurt?”</p><p>“No, honey…”  He paused and shot her a frustrated glare.  “Look, Steve parked on a hill today and I had trouble getting the door open.  You know how heavy those LTD doors are…. And I was halfway out of the car when the door came back at me and when I reached for it quickly with my left arm I, I pulled something… that’s all… I swear…”</p><p>She was standing in front of him, looking down at him with a mixture of skepticism and love.  “Are you sure?”</p><p>“Positive.”  </p><p>She leaned forward and kissed him.  “All right.  I’m going back to bed.”  He smiled.  “Okay, you do that.  I’m gonna wait for my dinner to get hot.”</p><p>She stared at him for a moment, then gestured at his left shoulder with her chin.  “The car door, hunh?”</p><p>He raised his right hand. “I swear…” he chuckled.</p><p>Shaking her head in mock frustration, she turned and started out of the room.  “You know what that means, right?”</p><p>“What’s that?” he called after her.</p><p>“You’re getting old!”</p><p># # # # #</p><p>As tired as he had been, he hadn’t gotten much sleep.  Some of the things he had seen in Walter Northcott’s files had triggered something in the back of his mind and he knew he wouldn’t be able to turn off his brain until he had an answer.  And hopefully that would be today.</p><p>He had told Steve, when he’d been dropped off the previous night, that he would take his own car into work the next day and, true to his word, he was at his desk by 6:30.  Other members of the squad began to drift in by 7 and the bullpen started to come to life.</p><p>“You were here early,” the familiar voice cut into his concentration and he looked up to see his partner standing in the doorway, smiling. </p><p>“Good morning.”</p><p>“You want a coffee,” Steve asked, turning towards the coffee station.  </p><p>“Yeah, sure,” Mike replied, starting to get up.</p><p>“No no, stay there, it’s on me.”</p><p>“Oh, okay… thanks.”</p><p>His attention returned to the file he was studying for a few long seconds before the cup came into view.  He looked up to see his partner standing in front of the desk, watching him with an amused smile.  With a self-conscious chuckle he reached for the cup, then froze.  “What the hell happened to you?” he asked, frowning, as he took the cup.</p><p>With an annoyed sigh, Steve looked at the back of his right hand, and the scrapes and bruises on his knuckles.  “So,” he began pedantically as he dropped into the guest chair, “after I dropped you off last night, I was about halfway to my place when I got a flat.”</p><p>“Oh no…”</p><p>“Oh yes.”</p><p>“Where were you?”</p><p>“Mission, near 3rd.”</p><p>“Oh, nice neighborhood…”</p><p>“Yeah… right…”  Steve chuckled.  “Anyway, there was nobody around, which was good and bad, if you know what I mean, and I didn’t want to call for a tow truck so I decided to change it myself.”  He looked at his hand again.  “I’ve had better ideas.”</p><p>Mike gestured at the battered hand with his chin.  “Lug nuts?”</p><p>“Why do they put them on so tight?  And there’s always that one that you can’t get off, and you end up jumping on the lug wrench…”  He sounded a little more than put out.</p><p>Mike laughed.  “Oh yeah, I’ve been there.  So, did you bring the flat tire -?”</p><p>Nodding, Steve cut him off.  “Yeah, the motor pool is going to deal with it.  They’re putting a new spare in the trunk as we speak.”</p><p>“Well, good for you.”  Mike took a sip of his coffee.  “So, how about I do all the writing today and you just use your brain?” he chuckled.</p><p>“That sounds like a plan,” the younger man laughed, putting his cup on the desk and leaning forward.  “So what is it you think you’ve found?”</p><p>Smiling affectionately, Mike put his cup down and picked up one of the files.  “Well, I don’t know if I’m reading this right, but -“</p><p>There was a knock on his door and they both looked up.  Captain Cassidy and one of the IA sergeants were standing in the doorway.  </p><p>“George,” Mike greeted with a grin.</p><p>Smiling, Cassidy took a step deeper into the room.  “Mike, Steve,” he nodded amiably.  “It’s good to see you both back at work.  So, ah, I guess I can’t lure you back to IA, can I, Mike?”</p><p>Grinning, the Homicide lieutenant shook his head.  “Not a chance.”  </p><p>Cassidy nodded with a smile.  “Didn’t think so.”  His smiled disappeared.  “Ah, listen, ah, this isn’t a social call.”  He looked at Steve as the IA sergeant took a step into the room to stand behind the captain.  “Steve, can you please tell us where you were last night between 9 and midnight?”</p><p>Both Homicide detectives started slightly, frowning.  “Ah, I came here after dinner, drove Mike home and then went home myself.  I got there about 11, 11:15.  Why?”</p><p>“Where do you live, Mike?” Cassidy asked, ignoring Steve’s question.</p><p>“Potrero.”</p><p>“You?”</p><p>“Union.  Union and Montgomery.  Why?”</p><p>“You went straight home after you dropped Mike off?”</p><p>“Yes… well, not straight home.  I got a flat and I had to change the tire.  Why?”</p><p>“Where was that?”</p><p>“On Mission.  Near 3rd.”</p><p>“Were you by yourself?”</p><p>“Yes…. Why?”</p><p>“Did anybody see you?”  Cassidy had leaned forward slightly, his tone hardening.</p><p>“I don’t know, I wasn’t really looking.  But I didn’t see anybody.  I just wanted to fix the flat and get home.”  Steve was getting a little agitated; he could feel Mike’s eyes boring into the side of his head, willing him to keep his cool.</p><p>Cassidy exhaled loudly, glancing at Mike before facing Steve again and straightening up.  “The body of Richard Palmieri was found in an alley off Jessie this morning, not very far from where you were last night.  It looks like someone beat him to death.  The M.E. at the scene puts the time of death somewhere between 9 and midnight last night.”</p><p>Steve had sat back slightly as Cassidy talked.  His eyes narrowed.  “What, you think I tracked him down last night and beat him to death?”  He sounded incredulous.  </p><p>“Now just wait a minute, George…” Mike began softly, getting to his feet.</p><p>“Sit down, Mike, this doesn’t concern you.”</p><p>Mike froze but remained standing.</p><p>“What happened to your hand?” Cassidy asked, nodding at Steve’s right hand.</p><p>He raised it.  “I had trouble getting the lug nuts off.  My hand kept slipping…”</p><p>Cassidy took a deep breath.  “You’re gonna have to come with us, Steve.  We’ll need to get pictures of your hand and you’ll need to give a statement.”  He gestured for the inspector to stand up.</p><p>Steve looked at Mike.  The older man swallowed heavily and shook his head slightly; he knew there was nothing he could do.  Slowly, Steve got to his feet and followed Cassidy out the door, the sergeant falling into step behind him.  </p><p>Mike crossed to the door and watched them go, shocked and feeling absolutely helpless.</p>
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<a name="section0040"><h2>40. Chapter 40</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Inspectors Lee Lessing and Bill Tanner, both staring at the small procession of Steve and two IA detectives crossing the bullpen, waited till the outer door had closed before they charged across the room to their lieutenant standing at his office door.</p><p>“Mike, what the hell’s going on?” Tanner asked, disbelief and urgency in his voice.</p><p>The older man shook his head rapidly, as if trying to clear it.  “Uh, who caught the Palmieri case?  First thing this morning?” he barked.</p><p>The two inspectors looked at each other, frowning.  Lessing shrugged.  “I have no idea.”  He looked around the bullpen quickly.  “Norm and Dan aren’t in yet.  Maybe it’s theirs.”</p><p>“Find out,” Mike snapped, turning on his heel and crossing back to his phone.  He picked it up and dialed three numbers.  “Rudy?  Mike.  I need to talk to you now…. Yeah, I’ll be right there.”  He slammed the phone down, stepping to the coatrack and grabbing his jacket.  He shrugged it on as he charged across the bullpen.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>Healey and Haseejian were waiting in Mike’s office when the lieutenant returned about a half hour later.  Frowning, obviously upset, he strode into the small room, stripping off his jacket and dropping in on the coat rack before circling the desk.  His barely controlled anger was palpable.  The sergeants exchanged apprehensive looks.</p><p>“Why wasn’t I told?” Mike growled as he dropped heavily into the chair, tugging at the knot in his tie.</p><p>“Mike,” Healey began, trying to keep his tone even and subdued, “I got the call when I was still at home and I called Norm.  With you and Steve still out, we were at the top of the list, you know that.  And as soon as we found out it was Palmieri, well… I knew he was guy that…. Anyway, we had to call IA.  That’s procedure.  We didn’t have a choice.  And Cassidy told us not to call you… because you’re Steve’s partner and…”</p><p>“And he thought I’d tell him, is that what Cassidy said?”  Mike’s tone was dark and accusatory.</p><p>The sergeants looked at each other again.  Both of them nodded.</p><p>Mike looked down and sighed heavily.  “Well, he’s not totally wrong, I guess.”  He looked up.  “Do you think Steve had anything to do with it?”</p><p>Two pairs of eyebrows rose quickly.  “Good god, no,” Healey blurted out.</p><p>“That never even crossed our minds,” Haseejian confirmed.  “Never.”</p><p>Mike nodded sharply.  “Good.  So now we just have to prove that.  What have you got so far?”</p><p>Haseejian shook his head and shrugged.  “Nothing.  There wasn’t much blood at the scene, so it’s possible Palmieri was beaten somewhere else and dumped in the alley, already dead.  We’ll have to wait till we hear from the lab about that.  There’s nothing on the body that we could see that would help us identify his killer so we’ll wait to see what the coroner and the lab turn up but it looks like it was done with just bare fists.  We’ve got guys going through the alley inch by inch but so far nothing there either.”</p><p>“We’re gonna go through Palmieri’s rap sheet and see if he ran with anybody or who he’s victimized and maybe it was someone with a grudge, someone he double-crossed, that kinda thing.  And if he wasn’t beaten in the alley then we’ve gotta find where it actually took place, which is not gonna be easy,” Healey continued.</p><p>“The whole thing’s not gonna be easy,” Haseejian added.  “And I don’t think we’re gonna have much luck getting anyone to cooperate so…”  He shrugged helplessly.</p><p>“Well, if you think he wasn’t beaten in the alley, that alone should be enough to clear Steve, I would think.  When would he have the time?”</p><p>Haseejian exhaled loudly.  “Well, that depends on what time he says he got home -“</p><p>“11, 11:15,” Mike interjected.</p><p>“Well, can he prove that?  Did anybody see him?  Did he call anybody after he got home?  Did he talk to a neighbor?  You know the drill, Mike, he’s gonna have to prove that -“</p><p>“He shouldn’t have to prove anything!  He didn’t do it.”  The passion in Mike’s voice was unmistakable and the sergeants fidgeted slightly.  Mike dropped his head and snorted softly.  “Sorry, fellas…”</p><p>Healey smiled understandingly.  “No worries…”</p><p>Haseejian leaned forward.  “We know the kid didn’t do it.  That’s not who he is, everybody knows that…”</p><p>Mike was nodding slowly.  “Yeah, but you’re right, it’s not gonna be easy…. I know we have to find out who killed Palmieri but the first thing you gotta do is clear Steve, right?”</p><p>Both sergeants nodded.  “You bet,” Healey agreed with an encouraging smile.</p><p>“Okay,” Mike said softly, waving them away gently with a quiet chuckle.  “Get outa here and get to work on that, will ya.”  He smiled at them sadly as they got to their feet.</p><p>Haseejian turned back at the door.  “Don’t worry, boss, we’ll clear him.”</p><p>Mike nodded gratefully.  “I know you will.”</p><p># # # # #</p><p>He didn’t know how long he’d been staring at the same page in the same file before a shuffling noise at the door caught his attention and he looked up.  A chastened Steve Keller stepped quietly into the room, closing the door and dropping heavily into the guest chair, patting his tie down.  They stared at each other silently for a couple of seconds.</p><p>“Well?” Mike asked eventually.</p><p>Steve flipped the left flap of his jacket back; his holster was empty.</p><p>Mike’s eyes snapped from his partners left hip to his eyes.  “They suspended you?”</p><p>Steve nodded.  “Just until they either clear me… or arrest me.”</p><p>“Steve…”</p><p>The younger man held a hand up.  “It’s okay, I really didn’t do it, Mike,” he said with a self-deprecating smile and soft chuckle.</p><p>Mike snorted, his eyes narrowing.  “I know that,” he half-snapped then smiled.  “We’re really not… destined to work together again anytime soon, are we?”</p><p>Steve laughed ironically.  “It sure seems that way, doesn’t it?”  He took a deep breath and released it loudly.  “Well, I’ve, ah, I’ve got to get out of here.  I am on suspension…”  He got slowly to his feet.</p><p>“Not for long,” Mike added quickly, staring at the young man worriedly.</p><p>Steve tilted his head and sighed.  “Listen, ah, before I go I gotta talk to Norm and Dan.  Do you know where they are?”</p><p>Mike nodded.  “Yeah, they’re down in the M.E.’s office.  How about I have them give you a call?”</p><p>“Yeah, that sounds good.”</p><p>Steve turned back at the door, his hand on the knob.  He gestured at the desk.  “Is, ah, is there anything in those files I could help you with?”</p><p>Mike glanced down at his notes.  “Ah, no, not yet, but listen, ah, I want to run something past you before I talk to a broker about my hunch.  How about I drop by your place after work tonight and we can go over what I think I might have found?”</p><p>Steve smiled.  “That sounds intriguingly… vague.”</p><p>Mike laughed self-consciously.  “Sorry, I’m not an insurance salesman and I’m really not sure what I’m looking at… but let’s just say I have… suspicions.”</p><p>The younger man snorted.  “Then I’ll look forward to helping you shed some light on your… suspicions.”  He opened the door.  “Oh, ah, this may be auspicious timing anyway.”  He pointed at his jaw.  “I have an appointment tomorrow to get this looked at.”</p><p>Mike’s eyebrows rose and he smiled.  “You mean you might be getting… released?”</p><p>“If they like what they see in the x-ray.”</p><p>“Fingers crossed.”</p><p>“You bet.”  They looked at each other soberly for a long second.  “I’ll see you tonight.”  With a nod, he walked slowly across the bullpen and out the door.  Every eye in the place followed him, none with more emotion than his partner.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>He was still working on the same file; the words just kept swimming before his eyes and he couldn’t concentrate.  He took off his glasses and dropped his head into his hands, rubbing the heels of his palms into his eyes.</p><p>There was the loud clearing of a throat nearby and his head shot up.  An expressionless Captain Cassidy was standing in the doorway, Mike’s hat and jacket in his hands.  “Come on, it’s a nice day out there, let’s go for a walk.”</p><p>Knowing it was more a command than a request and returning the even stare, Mike tossed his glasses on the desk and stood.  He crossed to the captain, taking both the jacket and fedora, putting the hat on his head before slipping into the jacket.  They left the Homicide office in silence and they were on the street in the bright late afternoon sunshine before Cassidy finally spoke again.</p><p>“I know you’re pissed off at me, and you have every right to be.  But you also know I didn’t have a choice, Mike.”</p><p>The lieutenant stopped and turned to face the captain. “You can’t possibly believe Steve would beat someone to death -”</p><p>“Of course I don’t believe it!” Cassidy snapped back.  “But you know as well as I do that if we didn’t investigate this, then what happens if Palmieri’s murder ever goes to trial and his lawyer finds out about Steve’s connection to his client, and the fact that he just happened to be within three blocks of where the body was found and around the time of death?  Or god forbid the press gets ahold of that information?”  He glared at the Homicide detective.  “What the hell else am I supposed to do, you tell me?  I’m doing this just as much for Steve as I am for the department.”</p><p>Furious, but realizing the position Cassidy was in, Mike glared at him for a long beat then turned and started down the street again, stuffing his hands into his pants pockets.  Cassidy lengthened his stride to catch up.  </p><p>After several silent seconds, Mike asked quietly, “So what happens now?”</p><p>Cassidy snorted softly.  “Well, I still gotta find someone who saw him change that tire… or get home when he said he did…”</p><p>“You have the tire, right?  And it’s flat…”</p><p>“Yeah, we have the tire and I’ve had a look at it.  It has a nail in it.  But there’s nothing that says someone couldn’t’ve taken a hammer and driven the nail into it to make it go flat.”<br/>“Oh, come on -!“  Mike stopped walking again.</p><p>“I’m not saying that’s what I think he did!” Cassidy overrode the protestation.  “I’m just… throwing it out there, like any good lawyer would…”</p><p>This time it was Cassidy who started to walk again and Mike half-jogged to catch up.  “Well, is there anything I can do?”</p><p>“Yes.  You can stay out of it.  I shouldn’t even be talking to you right now but I…” Cassidy stopped.  “I didn’t want you thinking I was being a jerk.  Not after what we just went through…”  He looked down, his fists in his pockets.  “Listen, I know how much he means to you -“</p><p>Mike snorted angrily and shook his head in frustration.  “It’s not that, George -“</p><p>“Now who’s bullshitting who?” Cassidy shot back, staring defiantly into the furious blue eyes.</p><p>Mike held the look for several long beats before closing his eyes and dropping his head with a heavy sigh.  Cassidy’s face softened and he took a step closer to his obviously troubled colleague.  With a soft, sympathetic snort, he reached out and patted Mike on the back.  “Come on, I think we both need a good stiff cup of coffee.  I’d like it to be a coupla drinks but we’re both still on duty… right?”</p><p>Mike’s head came up slowly and he looked at the IA captain with reluctant acceptance.  “Right…” he agreed softly as he turned and started down the street once more.  Cassidy’s hand slid up his back to his shoulder; it stayed there till they got to the diner.</p>
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<a name="section0041"><h2>41. Chapter 41</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He opened the door with a wide smile, heading back to the kitchen.  “Make yourself comfortable,” he called over his shoulder.  “I’ll be right back.”</p><p>Surprised and slightly confused, Mike stood in the doorway, his briefcase in one hand, watching his partner, casually dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, disappear into the other room.  “Okay,” he mumbled as he stepped over the threshold and closed the door, chuckling to himself.  He reached up to remove his hat and froze momentarily, sniffing the air.  Continuing the move, he turned in the direction the smell was emanating from and called out, “Is that what I think it is?”</p><p>“Well, if you think it’s fried onions then you’re right!” Steve yelled back.  </p><p>Mike dropped his hat and jacket on the arm of the sofa and put the briefcase down near the coffee table.  Rolling his sleeves up, he strolled into the kitchen with a smile, sniffing the air again.  The aroma of the frying onions was now mixed with burning charcoal.  There was a large uncooked t-bone steak on a plate on the counter.  </p><p>Steve’s head was in the fridge; he emerged with a beer bottle in one hand, then reached for the opener on the counter.</p><p>“What’s all this?” Mike asked, surveying the scene.</p><p>Handing his partner the opened beer, Steve chuckled.  “Well, I had some time to go shopping, and I thought, well, it’s not been a great day for either of us so I decided I’d whip you up a nice steak dinner tonight instead of, you know, the usual.”</p><p>“But you can’t have any…”</p><p>Steve grinned.  “Not yet.  Soon.  But that doesn’t mean you have to suffer.”  He picked up his own half-empty beer bottle from the small kitchen table and held it up.</p><p>Shaking his head and smiling self-consciously, Mike clinked his bottle against the other.  “Thank you, buddy boy, I really appreciate that.”</p><p>They both took sips.  “Sit down,” Steve gestured at the table.  “I gotta go put your steak on and check on the baked potato.”  He picked up the plate and headed out onto his tiny back deck.  Mike knew he had a small hibatchi out there.</p><p>Chuckling to himself, shaking his head slowly, Mike sank onto the kitchen chair.  He had closed his eyes and was working the stiffness out of his neck when Steve came back into the room.</p><p>“You look beat.”</p><p>Mike opened his eyes, looking a little self-conscious.  “Yeah, ah, it was hard to concentrate today.”  He shrugged.  “I, ah, I didn’t get much done…”</p><p>“I hear ya,” Steve said with a soft chuckle taking the lid off a pot on the stove and stirring the contents.</p><p>Mike gestured towards the stove with his chin, taking another sip of beer.  “What’s that?”</p><p>Steve smiled.  “My dinner.  Scotch broth.  Nice and soft.”</p><p>The older man snorted.  “I really hope you get that off tomorrow.”</p><p>“You and me both.”  Steve laid the spoon on the counter and and picked up his beer.  “So, did you figure out what was bothering you in those files?” he asked, leaning against the counter.</p><p>Mike shook his head.  “Like I said, I, ah, I really didn’t get much done after, ah, after George paid us that visit.”  He had decided not to tell his partner about Cassidy’s subsequent unofficial trip to Homicide.  “I was finding it hard to concentrate…”  He looked down, taking a deep breath.</p><p>Steve stared at him affectionately.  He knew the older man would have a hard time dealing with the unanticipated direction things had gone today.  Since they’d caught the Goodman case, it seemed like there was a black cloud over their heads that they couldn’t get out from under.</p><p>“Hey,” Steve said and watched Mike’s head come up.  “I’m not worried.  I didn’t do it.  I know it… and you know it.  And that’s all that’s important to me right now.  The rest’ll come… I’m not worried.”</p><p>Mike stared at him for a long second then he nodded.  “You’re right.”</p><p>Steve grinned.  “Did you bring the files?”</p><p>“Yep.”</p><p>“Good.  So let’s say we have a good dinner and a couple of beers - and we don’t talk shop.  And then we’ll dive into those files and you can show me what you think you’ve found.”</p><p>“I like that idea a lot…”</p><p># # # # #</p><p>“So why don’t we do that… oh, what do you call it…?   Ah… Japanese gate…?”  Mike was sitting in the centre of the couch, the briefcase on the coffee table in front of him.  He snapped the locks and lifted the lid.</p><p>Frowning, Steve turned the light off in the kitchen and moved deeper into the living with two cups of coffee in his hands.  He put one on the far end of the coffee table and took the other with him to the armchair, setting it on the endtable before sitting.  “What?”</p><p>Mike looked at him with feigned irritability.  “That… thing you call it when someone wants somebody to find out something on their own, without coaching…?  You know, it’s… Japanese or Chinese…?”</p><p>“A Chinese wall?”</p><p>“Yeah, that’s it.  A Chinese wall.”</p><p>Laughing, Steve sat back, picking up his coffee cup and taking a sip.  “It’s a good thing I can read your mind or we could be here all night trying to figure out what you were talking about…”</p><p>“Ha ha.  Anyway, I think that Chinese wall thing is what we should do, just in case I’m all wet about this and there’s really nothing there.  Okay?”</p><p>“Sounds good to me.  So how do you want to do this?”</p><p>“Okay, I’m gonna give you ten files.  I found something I think is a little hinky in at least one of them, and I want to see if you find it too.  Or if you find the same thing…. How does that sound?”</p><p>“Works for me.  What are you going to do?”</p><p>“Me?  Well, like I said, I really didn’t get much done this afternoon so I’m gonna keep going through the files I haven’t gotten to already.”</p><p>“Cool.  So,” Steve reached for the files Mike held out, “here goes.”</p><p># # # # #</p><p>Other than trips to the bathroom and to the kitchen to refresh their coffees, both men hunkered over the files for over three hours.  Steve closed the last file and straightened up.  He looked down at the notes he had made on the pad in front of him on the coffee table, then picked up six files that he had stacked on the floor.</p><p>Without a word, he handed them to Mike.  Silently, the older man looked at the names on the tabs then back at Steve, a tiny smile curling his lips.  “So what do you think you found?”</p><p>“Well,” Steve began slowly, “like you I’m not an insurance salesman, but from the looks of those,” he nodded at the files in Mike’s hand, “Walter Northcott was a scam artist.”</p><p>“And…?”</p><p>“And he sold people large life insurance policies, pocketed the commissions, and then they never made any more payments and the policies lapsed.”</p><p>Mike was nodding slowly.  “Yeah… that’s what I think too.  But then I have questions…”</p><p>“Yeah, so do I.  I mean, are these real people, or are they just names he made up?  And if they are real people, are they still making payments?  And if so, where’s that money going?”</p><p>“Yeah, that’s what I’m thinking.  Or… are these just made up people and he paid the original payment to open the policy.  But the problem with that is, if he just did it for the commission, then paying the first fee out of his own pocket is a little, I don’t, self-defeating, isn’t it?  Of course, I guess that depends on how big the commission is… and if you get a bigger commission with a bigger policy…?”  Mike shrugged.</p><p>“Umh-humh, which makes me think that maybe these might not be real people.  But, if they are  real, then they may think they still have a active policy and they don’t…” Steve postulated, frowning.  “Either way, somebody is getting royally screwed - these poor people who think they’re paying for life insurance, and the insurance company, who paid Northcott a hefty commission for a sale that really wasn’t a sale because they’re not getting the yearly payments.”</p><p>A silence lengthened between them.</p><p>“What a creep,” Steve finally said and Mike chuckled.</p><p>“Whew,” he said comically, exaggeratedly wiping imagined sweat from his forehead.  “I thought maybe I was just seeing things… or it was wishful thinking on my part…”</p><p>“Well, that’s why we use a Japanese gate,” Steve intoned with a straight face, rewarded with a double take and a smirk.</p><p>“Ha ha, very funny.”  Shaking his head and chuckling, Mike looked down at the files scattered atop the coffee table.  “Okay, so we know he was scamming the company, but was he scamming the people as well…?”</p><p>“Well, it’s not very scientific, and it won’t hold up in court, but it’ll give us a good idea,” Steve said enigmatically, as he stretched, reaching for the telephone book on the shelf under the coffee table.  On his partner’s frown, he held it up and smiled.  “Read me the name and address of one of the possibly fake names,” he instructed, gesturing at the files with his chin.</p><p>“Oh, good idea.”  Mike sprang to life, picking up one of the files.  “John Rochester, 520 3rd.”</p><p>Steve flipped through the white pages quickly, running his finger down the column.  He paused, running his finger back up and down the list of names again.  “Nope.  Lots of J. Rochesters but none on 3rd.”</p><p>“Doesn’t mean he doesn’t exist…”</p><p>“That’s true.  Give me another.”</p><p>Mike picked up a different file.  “Stuart Fugazzi, 833 Shrader.”</p><p>Another page flip, another column.  “Nope.”</p><p>“Hmmm,” Mike grunted, leaning back, frowning.  “I wonder if those addresses even exist.”</p><p>“Good question.  I guess that’s something you can find out tomorrow.”</p><p>“Yeah…” </p><p>Steve could see his partner’s mind racing.  “What?”</p><p>“Humh?”  The older man looked up, frowning.</p><p>“I can see the wheels turning.  What are you thinking?”</p><p>“Well… I still have to be really careful,.  I’m treading on very thin ice here and I could get my ass permanently canned if they think I’m stepping too far out of bounds.”  His eyebrows went up slowly and he raised his right index finger.  “But, we now have a possibly legitimate case of fraud here, don’t we?  So it behooves me…” he drew out the word with a chuckle, “to take this down to Chad in Bunco, doesn’t it?  And because I’m still, sort of, deskbound for awhile as I recover,” he massaged his left shoulder with his right hand, feigning discomfort, “I could… volunteer to do some investigative work for him…”  He stopped massaging his shoulder and raised his eyebrows eagerly.  “You buy it?”</p><p>Steve was chuckling silently.  “Works for me.”</p><p>“Oh, that reminds me, I almost blew it with Jeannie last night.  She caught me rubbing my shoulder after I got home when I was sitting in the kitchen waiting for my dinner to heat up.  I had to tell her you parked on a steep street again yesterday and I pulled a muscle trying to get the damn door open.”</p><p>“Oh, thanks, blame me.”</p><p>Mike shrugged.  “Well, she put me on the spot.  It was the fastest thing I could come up with.”  He shrugged in fake apology.  “Anyway, if she mentions anything, that’s my cover story.”</p><p>“Got it.”</p><p>Mike looked at his watch.  “Speaking of Jeannie, I gotta be getting home.  She told me she’d try to wait up for me tonight so we could have dessert before she went to bed.  She’s not quite gotten over that time zone thing yet.”</p><p>“Dessert?”  Steve sounded pitiful.</p><p>“She made an apple pie today.  Don’t worry, there should be some left over.  If you get unwired tomorrow, maybe you can have a piece tomorrow night.  What do you say?  It’s soft enough so it should be all right.”</p><p>“That would be wonderful.”</p><p>Laughing affectionately, Mike gathered the files and put them in the briefcase then got to his feet.  “What time is your appointment tomorrow?”</p><p>“10.”</p><p>“Good.  Give me a call when it’s over and let me know how it went.”</p><p>“I will.”</p><p>Mike started for the door then turned back.  “Listen, ah, I know George is working really hard to clear you.  Just be patient, okay?”</p><p>Steve, who had followed him to the door, nodded.  </p><p>The older man stared at him for a long beat then he reached out and gripped the back of his young friend’s neck.  He shook him once, gently, then took his hand away and opened the door.  As he stepped out onto the landing, he looked back over his shoulder.  “Thanks again for dinner.  It was great.”</p><p>Steve smiled.  “You’re welcome.”  As the older man started away, he reached out and grabbed his sleeve, pulling him to a stop.  “Ah, thanks for…”  He gestured vaguely at the briefcase.  Mike frowned slightly, smiling.  “I’ll see you tomorrow,” the younger man managed to get out, suddenly unable to talk past the lump in his throat.</p><p>Mike stared at him and nodded.  “Never forget we’re in this together…”</p><p>Steve watched until the tan LTD turned the corner out of sight.</p>
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<a name="section0042"><h2>42. Chapter 42</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Captain Chad Lofgren walked across the darkened room to his small, glass-walled office.  He turned on the overhead fluorescents and started to shrug off his jacket.  He turned towards his desk and jumped.  “Jesus!”</p><p>Sitting in the furthest guest chair, his fedora on and a briefcase in his lap, sat a grinning Mike Stone.</p><p>“You scared the hell out of me.  What are you doing here…” Lofgren asked in surprise as he finished taking off his jacket and glancing at his watch, “at 7:15 in the morning…?”</p><p>“Well, I was told you were an early starter so I wanted to make sure I got here before your squad came in,” Mike replied pleasantly, still grinning.</p><p>Frowning, Lofgren started to cross behind his desk.  “Okay…”  He sat.  “Uh, why didn’t you turn on the lights?” he asked hesitantly, smiling slightly in confusion. </p><p>“Well,” Mike began slowly, “I didn’t want to call attention to myself if one of your men came in early and found me sitting here so…”  He shrugged with a self-conscious chuckle.  “I’m just glad you didn’t lock your door.”</p><p>“I never lock my door,” the heavyset blond captain countered with a laugh.  “Do you?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“So, ah, this is all very… clandestine.  What can I do for you?”</p><p>Mike put the briefcase on the desk.  “Well, do you have some time?  This could take awhile.”  There was a distinct change of tone; the homicide detective was now deadly serious.</p><p>Lofgren nodded slowly.  “Yeah… ah, take as long as you need.”</p><p>“Good, thanks.”  Mike got up and closed the door then returned to the chair.  “I’ve, ah, I’ve got a bit of a dilemma.”</p><p>For almost an hour, Mike told the Bunco captain about the Goodman murders and final coroners report, his temporary secondment to IA, and the subsequent ‘off the record’ investigation he had been conducting into Walter Northcott as a result of the anonymous tip.  He finished his presentation with the findings he and Steve had discovered in Northcott’s files.</p><p>Other than asking a few pointed questions, Lofgren had remained silent throughout and Mike wasn’t sure how the captain was feeling about everything.</p><p>“So what do you need from me?”</p><p>Mike blew out a frustrated breath.  “Well, as you’ve probably figured out, I’m doing this under the radar.  I’ve already upended the apple cart, so to speak, and the only thing that’s saved my bacon, to mix a metaphor,” he said with a chuckle, “was getting shot a few weeks ago, believe it or not…”  He snorted mirthlessly and Lofgren winced in empathy.</p><p>“But I don’t want to give up on this, Chad.  Jane Goodman did not kill her husband and her baby and I’ll stake my career on it.  Her brother had something to do with it.  I’m not sure how or exactly why right now but I know in my gut he had something to do with it.”  He smiled without humour and opened the briefcase, taking out the stack of files.  “I have to make a trip back to the insurance company and get the rest of his files but I want to be able to do a thorough dive into Northcott’s finances - credit cards, bank accounts, you name it.  And I also want to find out if these clients of his,” he hefted the files in his hand, “are real or not.  And if the requests for this stuff comes out of Homicide, then I’m - for lack of a better term - screwed.  But if the requests come from Bunco…?”  He shrugged, raising his eyebrows.</p><p>Lofgren frowned.  “So… you want to take over a desk here in my bullpen, and use my name…?”</p><p>Mike smiled like a Cheshire cat.  “Well, this is actually a fraud case right now, isn’t it?”</p><p>The captain stared at his colleague, who was having a hard time reading what was going on behind the pale blue-eyed stare.  Very slowly, Lofgren sat forward and rested his forearms on the desk.  “When do you want to start?”</p><p># # # # #</p><p>The stack of files beside the desk was almost three times as high as it originally had been.  After a phone call to Kelly Breen, Mike had made a quick trip to Bay Area Insurance and picked up the remainder of Walter Northcott’s files.  There were two more boxes; Northcott was a very prolific insurance agent, it seemed.</p><p>He was working his way through the last third when he heard his name called.  He looked up to see Captain Lofgren standing in his office door.  “You’re wanted on the phone!”</p><p>Frowning, Mike got to his feet, tossing his glasses on the desk, and crossed to the inner office.  Lofgren was holding the receiver out.  “Thanks,” Mike mumbled as he took it and brought it to his ear.  “Mike Stone.”</p><p>There was a short beat of silence then two quick muffled snaps.  Frowning even deeper, Mike took the receiver away from his ear for a split second, glancing at it, then listened again.  The sound repeated.  Suddenly, the light dawned.  “Teeth!” he exclaimed happily.  “That’s teeth!”  From the corner of his eye, he could see Lofgren’s head spin towards him in surprise.  “You’re free!”</p><p>“I sure am,” Steve chuckled from the other end of line.  “Jeez, you’re a hard guy to track down.  I was expecting you to be in your office, then when Bill said he had no idea where you were, I remembered what you said last night about Bunco.”</p><p>“Yeah, Chad’s given me a desk.  I went back to Bay Area this morning and got the rest of Northcott’s files and I’m just going through them now.  And I’ve put in requests for his bank accounts and credit cards.”</p><p>“Sounds like you’ve been busy…”</p><p>“Yeah…” Mike said softly, glancing at Lofgren, who was studiously pretending to read a file on his desk.  “Ah, you heard anything from Dan and Norm… or George?”</p><p>“No, not yet.”</p><p>“Okay, well, ah, don’t forget apple pie tonight.”</p><p>“I won’t,” Steve chuckled.</p><p>“Good.  Okay, well, glad you’re free… and I’ll see you tonight.”</p><p>“Thanks.  Yeah, see you later.”</p><p>As Mike hung up he could feel Lofgren staring at him.</p><p>“Free…?” the captain asked with an easy, curious smile.</p><p>Mike chuckled softly.  “Yeah, Steve got a busted jaw awhile ago trying to take down a suspect.  He just got the wires removed.”</p><p>“Good for him.”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“So how’s it going out there?”</p><p>“Good, thanks.  Getting a lot done.  Ah, thanks, Chad, really… it means a lot.”</p><p>“Hey, anytime we can take one of the bad guys off the street, right?”</p><p>“You bet.”  Mike walked slowly back to his desk.  He really wanted to do this with Steve at his side, but that wouldn’t happen until the younger man was cleared.  He picked up the phone, debating whether or not to call Healey or Haseejian and see where the investigation stood but thought better of it.  He didn’t want to be seen as interfering in any way that could derail, even for a minute, his partner’s exoneration.</p><p>With a frustration sigh, he dropped the receiver back on the cradle and went back to work on the files.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>“Oh my god, look at you!!”  With a squeal, Jeannie put her arms around his neck and pulled him down to plant a kiss on his cheek.  “How does it feel?” she asked as she let him go.</p><p>Chuckling, Steve moved deeper into the living room, allowing her to shut the door behind him.  “It feels fantastic.  I’ll never take opening my mouth for granted again.”</p><p>“I bet.”  She grinned at him.  “So Mike told me you’re dying for a piece of my apple pie…”</p><p>“Your father told you correctly.  All I’ve had for the past two months is smoothies and very soft foods that all tasted, well… soft…”</p><p>She chuckled, slipping her arm through his and steering him towards the kitchen.  “Then let me present you with something soft but definitely tasty.  Would you like ice cream or a piece of cheese with that?”</p><p>“Oh, ah, both, please,” he laughed, glancing around as they walked into the kitchen.  “Mike’s not home yet?”</p><p>She shook her head as she released his arm and crossed to the stove.  “No, he called about three hours ago and said he was going to be a little late.”  She glanced at him with a peeved expression.  “So, of course, he hasn’t come home yet… I’m keeping his dinner warm.”  She opened the oven and took the pie pan out; he could see an aluminum foil-covered plate on another rack.  </p><p>He sniffed the air.  “Lasagna?”</p><p>“Ravioli.  You want some?  I have lots.”</p><p>“No, thanks, I had dinner.  Macaroni and cheese,” he chuckled.  When she frowned, he elaborated.  “Hey, it was all I had in the house. I’m going grocery shopping for solid food tomorrow.”</p><p>Laughing, she took a small dessert plate out of the cupboard and cut him a slice of pie.  He sat at the kitchen table.  “You want a coffee?”</p><p>“Yes, please.  You still have some of that Kona coffee that Norm bought?”</p><p>“Yeah, but I gotta get some more.  Everytime Mike has a cup, he grumbles about how much money Norm is costing him… it’s really quite funny,” she chuckled affectionately.</p><p>“He’s never gonna let Norm live that down, I tell ya,” Steve laughed as she put the cheese-covered pie slice with a scoop of vanilla ice cream on the table in front of him.</p><p>It was almost an hour later before they heard the front door open and a weary Mike Stone dragged himself into the kitchen, loosening his tie.  “Ohhh, that smells great, sweetheart -“ he began, stopping when he spied his partner.  “Hey, I was hoping you’d be here.  I forgot to look for your car.  How are you feeling?”</p><p>Steve opened his mouth as wide as possible.  </p><p>“Well, look at that,” Mike laughed, glancing at his daughter, “not a wire or an elastic in sight.”  He patted the young man’s shoulder.  “Good for you.  How does it feel?”</p><p>“Like I told your daughter, fantastic.  Just like this pie.”</p><p>“Thank you, sir,” Jeannie grinned with a coy nod.</p><p>“Well, I’ll have a piece after I eat.”  He sniffed the air.  “What is that, ravioli?”</p><p>“You bet it is,” Jeannie chuckled as she got to her feet and crossed to the stove, opening the oven again.  Mike stretched, closing his eyes and rubbing a hand across the nape of his neck.</p><p>“Why don’t you sit down before you fall down,” Steve encouraged, gesturing at Mike’s regular spot at the table.</p><p>“Yeah, that’s a good idea.”  Dropping heavily into the chair, he looked at his partner self-consciously, running a hand over his eyes.  “I think I did more reading today than I’ve done in years.  But I got through all Northcott’s files.”  He raised his eyebrows.  “And I’d say more than two thirds are bogus.”</p><p>Steve frowned.  “Seriously?”  When his partner nodded, he sat back.  “Wow…”</p><p>“Yeah.  Next step is talking to Barkley Acer and find out if they knew about this, which I somehow doubt, and find out just how much in commissions Northcott would’ve received.”</p><p>“Anything on his finances yet?”</p><p>Mike glanced up and smiled at his daughter as she placed the steaming hot plate of ravioli on the table in front of him, then he shook his head.  “No, not yet.  Probably tomorrow.”  He picked up the fork, stabbed a piece of the square pasta and popped it into his mouth.</p><p>“What about finding out whether the policy holders are actually people?”</p><p>Mike chewed and swallowed.  “I didn’t have time for that.  That’s a first-thing-tomorrow-morning job.  Hey, I’m only one man,” he chuckled then sobered, realizing what he’d said.  He dropped his head; when he looked up, his partner was staring at him with a soft, understanding smile.</p><p>Jeannie, who was back in her seat at the table, looked from one to the other; she knew them well enough to know what was passing between them, and her heart ached for them both.  She knew how much they hated being apart; and how amazing they were when they worked together.</p><p>“So, ah,” Steve began quietly, “other than bogus policy holders, did you find anything else of interest?”</p><p>Mike’s eyes widened and he smiled.  “As a matter of fact, I did.”  He glanced at his daughter then focused on his partner.  “There was one policy in the ‘non bogus’ category that sent up all kinds of flags - a $250,000 life insurance policy on Charles Goodman.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0043"><h2>43. Chapter 43</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Charles Goodman?”</p><p>“Umh-humh.”</p><p>“His brother-in-law Charles Goodman?”</p><p>“One and the same.”</p><p>Steve’s frown got even deeper.  “And you said this wasn’t in the bogus files?”</p><p>Mike speared more of his ravioli.  “Yeah, it wasn’t.”  He frowned.  “I don’t know whether to nod or shake my head,” he chuckled, glancing at his daughter.  She grinned as he stuffed the pasta into his mouth.  “This is great,” he muttered quickly before he started to chew.</p><p>Steve was still working his way through this new information.  “So, if Northcott has a policy on his brother-in-law, did his brother-in-law know about it?”</p><p>Mike smiled, swallowing before he answered.  “That’s the sixty-four thousand dollar question, isn’t it?  And it’s one of the things I’ll ask Barkley Acer about tomorrow.  They must have records but who knows.  If Northcott’s been getting away with bogus policies for years, they mustn’t have very good records but, then again, I’m not an insurance salesman and I have no idea how all this works.”</p><p>Steve was staring into space, thinking.  He nodded slowly.  “Acer is going to be in for one hell of a shock tomorrow, isn’t he?”</p><p>“I would think so…”</p><p>A short silence fell over the table.</p><p>“Ah, Steve…?” Jeannie ventured softly and his eyes focused on her, continuing to frown.  She smiled slightly.  “Um, your ice cream is melting…”  She was pointing at his pie.</p><p>“Oh, uh, thanks,” he chortled, snapping to attention and picking up his fork again.  Mike chuckled at him.</p><p>Jeannie looked at her father.  “Is this a breakthrough in your case?”</p><p>He raised his eyebrows in a facial shrug.  “Well,” he said after swallowing another mouthful of ravioli, “we can’t be sure but it sure puts another wrinkle in the fabric, so to speak.  There’s still a lot more work to do.”</p><p>“Have you talked to this Northcott guy about all this?”</p><p>Her father shook his head.  “Oh no.  Not yet.  I want to have a lot more arrows in my quiver before we even think about talking to him.”  He looked at Steve.  “Speaking of which, I want to go back and talk to his wife again, see if she knows anything about his scam.”</p><p>Steve nodded slowly.  The more he heard, the more frustrated he was starting to feel.  There was so much still to do and his partner was doing it totally on his own.</p><p>Mike was staring at him, smiling slightly, like he was reading his mind.  “Don’t worry,” he said softly, picking up his coffee cup, “there’ll still be a lot for us to do together when you get back.”</p><p>Steve’s eyes snapped to Jeannie; she was staring at him the same way her father was.  </p><p>Mike’s smile got a little wider.  “I told her.”  He shrugged.  “It’s nothing to be ashamed about.  She knows you’d never do something like that.”</p><p>She reached across the table and put her hand on his forearm, squeezing.  His eyes brightened and he smiled at her gratefully.  This small family never ceased to amaze him.</p><p>The conversation around the table turned to more pedestrian matters, like the Giants, the 49ers and the new restaurant that had opened a few blocks away, and time passed effortlessly and happily.  </p><p>It was after 10 when Steve glanced at his watch, surprised, and started to get up from the table, commenting that his partner should try to get a good night’s sleep before the busy day tomorrow.  Mike was getting up when the phone rang.  Jeannie jumped to her feet and answered the wall phone in the kitchen.  Frowning, she held the receiver out to her father.  “It’s Norm.”</p><p>Glancing at Steve, eyebrows raised, he took the phone.  “Yeah, Norm.”  As he listened, the younger people exchanged a look, then Jeannie started to clear the table.  The conversation was relatively short, and Steve was staring at him anxiously as he hung up.  Expressionlessly, he met the intense green eyes then smiled slightly.  “Well, you’re not off the hook yet, but they found a CI who says he knows where Palmieri was beaten to death… and he knows who did it.”</p><p>Steve’s eyes had started to widen and he swallowed heavily.  “They did?”</p><p>Mike nodded slowly, his smile broadening a little more.  “And they found a neighbor, across the street, who saw you pull up to your place around 11:20 on the night in question.”</p><p>“They did?” Steve repeated, not quite believing what he was hearing.  “Who?”</p><p>Mike shook his head.  “I don’t know, he didn’t say.  But she’s lives across from you and she says she remembers because her boyfriend was leaving as you parked.  You got something out of the Porsche?” he asked and Steve nodded.</p><p>“Yeah, I’d left a jacket in the back seat the day before and I wanted to take it in.”</p><p>“Well, her boyfriend saw you do that and he remarked on how much he loved your car.”</p><p>Steve closed his eyes and exhaled loudly.  Mike glanced at Jeannie, grinning and chuckling.  </p><p>“Just so you know, like I said you’re not off the hook until George says you are.  Now that could be tomorrow but it for sure won’t be until he has a chance to check out this information for himself.  You understand that, right?”</p><p>Steve nodded understandingly but his elation was obvious, and the tension that had been so evident in his eyes had disappeared.  </p><p>Smiling, Mike put an arm around his shoulder and they walked slowly to the front door.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>Mike was back at the desk in Bunco at 6:30 the next morning.  He wanted to make sure he had everything straight, both on paper and in his mind, before he gave Bay Area Insurance a call requesting a meeting with Barkley Acer.  He also wanted to return the files he had borrowed to Kelly Breen, as promised, so he was going to be spending a good deal of time photocopying the necessary documents for his own files.</p><p>The detectives of the fraud squad drifted in and out all morning while he pored over his files, making copious notes, then stood at the photocopier for what seemed like hours.  At 10 a.m. he called Stacy Ann Miller and requested a meeting with Barkley Acer for that afternoon.  She put him in touch with the boss’s secretary who said Acer could fit him in at 3.</p><p>He was back at the photocopier when Lofgren summoned him to the phone in his office once more.  “Sorry,” Mike whispered embarrassedly as he took the receiver from the captain’s hand.  </p><p>“Maybe I should get you your own phone,” Lofgren mumbled good-naturedly as he dropped back into his chair.</p><p>“Mike Stone.”</p><p>“So I just got a call from George Cassidy,” Steve started without preamble.</p><p>“Oh yeah?”</p><p>“Yeah, he wants me to come in and see him a 2.”</p><p>“Here?  Did he say why?”</p><p>“Ah, no, but I think we know why, right?”</p><p>“Yeah.  Ah, just to be on the safe side, don’t mention Norm’s call last night, okay?  Just in case he wasn’t supposed to… you know…”</p><p>“Yeah, good idea.  So have you got an appointment with Acer today?”</p><p>“Yeah, I talked to his secretary.  I’m meeting him at 3.”</p><p>“3?  Hmmm…”</p><p>Mike chuckled.  “Yeah, I was thinking the same thing….  It takes about 20 minutes to get there from here, so if you finish with George quickly and get your gun and badge back…?”</p><p>“I guess I better dress appropriately, hunh?”</p><p>“I guess…”</p><p>“Okay, ah, I’ll, ah, I’ll let you know.”</p><p>“Okay.  I’ll probably still be in Bunco.  Fingers crossed.”</p><p>“Yeah, thanks.  See ya.”</p><p>“Yeah.”  Mike hung up and stood motionless for several seconds, staring into space.  </p><p>Lofgren finally looked up.  “Something wrong?”</p><p>“Uh,” Mike started slightly, smiling to himself as he refocused.  “Um, no, not at all.  As a matter of fact, something might be going right for a change.”</p><p># # # # #</p><p>Mike glanced at his watch:  2:30.  He looked up at the clock on the wall to confirm; it did.  Pursing his lips in consternation, he picked up the briefcase and set it on the desk.  By the time he got down to the garage and drove over to the Bar Area Insurance Company, it would be close to 3, and he didn’t want to be late.</p><p>He had just snapped the briefcase closed and picked up the fedora from the desk when Steve Keller stepped through the door into the Bunco bullpen.  He was wearing a slight smile and, as he flipped the left flap of his jacket back, his gun.</p><p>Mike stared at him with a soft, proud smile, then he nodded, swallowing heavily.  As he passed the younger man, heading out the door, he fished the car keys from his pocket and held them out.  Instinctively, Steve’s hand shot out and Mike dropped them onto his palm.  “You’re driving,” was all he said.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>Barkley Acer ushered them into his office and they settled into the two plush leather armchairs.  Mike kept the briefcase on his lap.  </p><p>The company CEO returned to his chair behind the impressive desk with a welcoming but concerned smile.  “So, gentlemen, what can I do for you today?  I’m assuming this is about Walter again?”</p><p>Clearing his throat softly, Mike nodded.  “Yes, sir, it is.  I borrowed his files from Mr. Breen the other day - and thank you for that - and we,” he included Steve in a brief glance, “have spent the last couple of days going through them… and I believe we may have found some… anomalies.”  He opened the briefcase, took out a stack of files then stood, putting the briefcase on the floor before handing the files to Acer.  “These are some of the policies we’re having problems with and I’d like you to have a look at them and see if you notice the same… problems…”  He was being intentionally vague.</p><p>Frowning, Acer accepted the stack of files and dropped them on the desk, quickly opening the top one.  Mike sat, sharing a glance with his partner as they waited for Acer to rifle through several of the large manila folders.  </p><p>It didn’t take long for the company owner to spot the irregularity; there was a sharp intake of breath.  He set the file aside and opened the second one.  After the sixth, he looked up at the detectives.  “Yes, ah, I can see what you mean…”  He sounded gutted.  “How many of these are there?”  His words sounded far away, as if he didn’t want to hear the answer.  </p><p>“I have over a hundred files exactly like those…”  Mike pointed at the ones on the desk.  “And there are probably more….”</p><p>“Good lord.”  Acer looked down, his mind obviously reeling.</p><p>“And I’m afraid that’s not all,” Mike continued.  “It turns out that more than half these names are fictitious, as are the addresses.”</p><p>Acer continued to stare at the files, trying to comprehend what the lieutenant was saying.</p><p>Steve, after sharing another look with his partner, waited a beat before asking.  “Sir, ah, what we need to know is, how was Northcott able to get away with this, is he the only one doing it… and how much money in commissions could he have made by doing this?”</p><p>Acer was nodding slowly, stunned into silence.  “Um, ah… that’s going to take some time to figure out…”</p><p>Mike nodded understandingly.  “We realize that.  We just need to know we have your cooperation.”</p><p>The CEO’s head came up quickly, his stare suddenly focused.  “Oh, you do.  Don’t worry lieutenant, you do.  Our full cooperation.  This, ah…” he swallowed heavily.  “This was my father’s company…”  He looked shaken to the core.</p><p>Mike leaned down and opened the briefcase once more, taking out a file that had been stuffed into the pocket on the lid.  “Mr. Acer, there’s one more thing we need to know about,” he said gently, watching the other man stiffen in anticipation of more bad news.  Mike handed the file over.  </p><p>Acer glanced at the tab and frowned, looking back up at the detectives.  “Charles Goodwin?”</p><p>Mike nodded.  “Walter Northcott’s brother-in-law.”</p><p>“The one that…?” he stopped, as if he couldn’t say the words.</p><p>Both cops nodded.  </p><p>“What we need to know, sir,” Steve asked, “is if this policy is legitimate, and if Walter Northcott actually was the sole beneficiary like it says?”</p><p>Acer looked up at them, his obvious distress evident on his face.  His attention slowly returned to the open file in front of him.  “Dear god…” he whispered almost inaudibly.</p><p>Mike looked at his partner.  They were on the right track, of that he was certain; but it was not a time for celebration.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0044"><h2>44. Chapter 44</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They walked back to the car without a word.  When both doors had slammed shut, they sat quietly for a few seconds before Mike exhaled noisily.  “Well, I don’t think he’ll be getting much sleep tonight…” he said quietly and Steve snorted softly.</p><p>“I don’t think he’s going to leave the office tonight.”</p><p>“Probably not.”</p><p>Steve stuck the key in the ignition and turned the engine over.  “Where to?”</p><p>There were several long beats of silence.  “Humh?”  Mike chuckled softly.  “Oh, sorry, my mind was wandering.  Ah, let’s head back to the Hall.  I want to see if those financial reports are in yet.”</p><p># # # # #</p><p>They were.  The detectives spent the rest of the afternoon going over the minutiae of Walter Northcott’s bank account and credit cards.  They didn’t paint a pretty picture.</p><p>When they had finished, Steve leaned back in the guest chair beside Mike’s Bunco desk and ran his hands over his face, working his now liberated jaw.  Mike slumped in the swivel chair, closing his eyes, his right hand gravitating to his left shoulder.  As he stared unfocused at the raft of messy papers on the desk, his fingers gently massaged the still fresh scar.</p><p>“Are you okay?”</p><p>He looked up to see Steve staring at him with a worried frown.</p><p>“Ah, yeah,” he smiled reassuringly, looking down at his hand with a guilty grimace, “it’s almost become a habit, I guess.”</p><p>Steve raised his eyebrows.  “Just don’t do that around Jeannie.”</p><p>The older man dropped his hand into his lap.  “God, you’re right…”  He looked at the papers again and sighed.  “Well, before we call it a day, let’s go over what we know so far, shall we?”</p><p>Straightening up, suppressing a yawn, Steve nodded.  “Sounds like a plan.”</p><p>Trying to muster some much needed energy, Mike sat forward, clapping his hands then slapping them on the desk.  “Okay, so, Walter Northcott has been, for years it seems, defrauding the Bay Area Insurance Company out of a lot of money, by selling life insurance policies to a combination of real, though unaware, and… unreal -?“</p><p>“Phony.”</p><p>“Phony people.  And he did this by paying the initial payment himself, collecting the commission, then never paying another premium and letting the policy lapse…”</p><p>“And the insurance company had no idea because the people holding the policies didn’t even know they were policy holders so they didn’t realize that the policies had lapsed.”</p><p>“Right,” Mike nodded.  “Okay, that’s pretty straightforward.  It’s… despicable and illegal, but straightforward.”</p><p>Steve nodded.  “But… and this is a big but… three years ago he took out a policy for $250,000 on his brother-in-law’s life -“</p><p>“Charles Goodman…”</p><p>“Right, Charles Goodman, but not in his sister’s name, Goodman’s wife name, but in his own… so he’s the beneficiary.  And he paid the yearly premiums so the policy remained active, so when Charles died two months ago, he suddenly pocketed a quarter of a million dollars.”  He sat back and sighed, shaking his head slowly in wonder and disgust.</p><p>“And during that time, the two months since the murders,” Mike took up the thread, “he divorces his wife and moves into another house.  I want to find out how he’s paying for that house.”</p><p>Steve nodded.</p><p>“I also want to find out how the Goodman estate was distributed.  I want to know how much went to Northcott and how much went to Goodman’s brother and sister.”</p><p>“I’ll look into that tomorrow,” Steve nodded, making a note on the pad near his right hand.</p><p>“Good.”  Mike sighed again.  “Okay, so, his credit cards.”  He picked up some of the papers.  “According to these, he was in dutch up to his eyeballs.  He had two credit cards with high credit limits and even higher interest rates, it seems, and they were both over their limits; he was only paying the minimum every month.”  He raised his eyebrows and stared at his partner.</p><p>“Probably all those girlfriends of his.”</p><p>“Yeah, there are a lot of restaurant and hotel charges here, that’s for sure…”</p><p>“Jewelry stores…”</p><p>Mike chuckled.  “Yeah, those too.”</p><p>“And then two weeks ago, he makes big payments on both cards…”</p><p>The older man straightened up suddenly.  “Hey, make another note, will ya?  I want to know if he has another bank account somewhere.  Try using his middle name as a first name, his mother’s maiden name… you know what to do.”  Steve was nodding, making another note.  Mike sighed.  “I don’t think he’s the trigger man, Steve.  I don’t think he has the balls to kill his sister and his nephew.  I think he hired someone, and I think there’s a money trail somewhere… and we’ve just gotta find it.”</p><p>Steve finished writing, tossing the pen onto the desk.</p><p>Mike snorted softly.  “You look beat.”  He glanced at his watch.  “Come on, let’s go home, get a good night’s sleep and get back at this first thing in the morning.”</p><p>“That, Lieutenant, is one of the best ideas you’ve had all day.”</p><p># # # # #</p><p>“Do you really think she’s going to rat on her husband?” Steve asked, glancing across the front seat from behind his dark glasses.</p><p>Mike tilted his head and shrugged.  “I have no idea.  Maybe she knows about the other women and maybe she doesn’t.  And maybe she knows about the insurance scams but… well, I don’t think so.”“So you’re going to tell her?”</p><p>“Why not?  They’re not married anymore; she has nothing more to lose, does she?  I guess we’ll find out how loyal she is, how much she really loved him.”</p><p>Steve turned the LTD to the curb and shifted into Park.  Exhaling loudly, Mike got out of the car, his eyes on house as he crossed to the door and rang the bell.  He glanced back at his partner; next to death notifications, these kinds of calls were not amongst his favourites.</p><p>The door opened.  Linda Wilson’s eyes widened when she recognized the two men standing on her doorstep.  “Oh… Lieutenant Stone, Inspector Keller… I wasn’t expecting to see you two again…”</p><p>Mike smiled genially.  “Ms. Wilson,” he greeted as Steve nodded pleasantly, “we’re sorry to disturb you again but we have a couple of questions to ask you about your ex-husband.  It shouldn’t take too long, if you don’t mind.”</p><p>She frowned, puzzled.  “I’m sorry, Lieutenant, but I thought the case was closed?”</p><p>Resisting the urge to shoot a guilty look at his partner, Mike quickly cleared his throat.  “Ah, well, yes, it is, but some things have come up that need to be more thoroughly examined.”  He smiled at her patiently, waiting for a response, knowing his anticipatory silence would fluster her.</p><p>It worked.  “Um, ah, okay…” she started hesitantly, taking a step back and opening the door a little wider.  “Ah, please come in.”</p><p>“Thank you,” Mike smiled, taking off his hat as he stepped over the threshold, Steve right behind him.</p><p>They settled in the living room, both men on the floral couch and Ms. Wilson in an armchair, declining her offer of coffee.  She smiled pleasantly, if a little apprehensively.  “So what is it you’d like to know?”</p><p>Mike looked down briefly, slowly turning his hat in his hand, then looked up straight into her eyes.  “Ms. Wilson, did you know your husband had a number of girlfriends while you were married?”  </p><p>Her head went back sharply; even Steve’s eyes snapped to his partner, not expecting such a blunt opening.</p><p>She collected herself quickly, her hands wringing in her lap but her eyes remaining on the older cop who was staring at her with a calm expectancy.  “Yes,” she said softly, “yes, I was aware that Walter… played the field, so to speak.  But he was always discreet and he never flaunted it in my face.  He was very… considerate in that way.”</p><p>Mike knew she was lying but let it slide; there was no point in picking at a scab, he thought.  He glanced down at his fedora once again before asking, “Did you know he was embezzling money from the insurance company?”</p><p>This time her reaction was more subdued but told him a lot more.  He saw the cords in her neck tighten as she tried not to swallow so obviously, straining to maintain an air of confidence.  </p><p>“I believe you’re wrong about that, Lieutenant,” she stated flatly, using his rank deliberately, he knew.  “Walter had a lot of faults, but professional dishonesty was not one of them.  Besides, on more than one occasion he was named their Broker of the Year.  They would not have done that if he had been embezzling from them, now would they?”</p><p>“Well, they could if they weren’t aware of it,” he countered evenly, refusing to give ground.</p><p>There were a tense couple of seconds, then Ms. Wilson got to her feet.  “I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to ask you gentlemen to leave.”</p><p>Steve looked at his partner; Mike glanced down, a soft smile curling his lips then, shaking his head sadly, he got slowly to his feet.  Without a word, he started for the door.  Frowning, Steve got up and followed, Ms. Miller following.</p><p>Mike opened the front door and stepped outside then stopped.  As Steve moved past him, he turned around and, putting his hat slowly on his head, nodded at Ms. Wilson.  “Thank you for your time,” he said pleasantly then turned away and walked towards the car.</p><p>They were back on the road and heading towards Bryant Street before Mike looked across the front seat and smiled.  “We’ll hear from her again.”</p><p># # # # #</p><p>Parked in the guest chair, Steve was on the phone, leaning over a corner of the desk and making notes.  Mike, his glasses on, was sitting forward, hunched over the papers scattered across the top.  Neither of them saw the older man who crossed the Bunco bullpen towards them, stopping beside the desk, waiting to be noticed.</p><p>After a few long seconds of neglect, he cleared his throat loudly.  “What the hell are you two doing down here?”  </p><p>Both detectives jumped, Steve almost losing his hold on the received stuffed under his left ear.  Captain Olsen, his hands on his hips, was glaring down at them both.</p><p>“Jeez, Rudy, give me a heart attack why don’tcha?” Mike growled, shaking his head in feigned anger, his right hand on his chest.</p><p>“I’ve been trying to find you for hours,” the captain griped loudly.  Steve turned away as best he could, cupping his right hand around the mouthpiece to hopefully block the extraneous sounds from intruding into his conversation.  </p><p>“Well, I’ve been here for a couple of days now,” Mike answered lightly.  “It’s not like I’ve been hiding.”</p><p>Olsen frowned, knowing he was being played.  “May I ask what you’re working on?”</p><p>His eyes dropping to the page he had been reading, the lieutenant shrugged slightly.  “Just helping Chad with a Bunco case, seeing as how Steve and I aren’t allowed back on the streets just yet.”</p><p>“Unh-hunh…” the captain mumbled, obviously unconvinced, his eyes sliding from one homicide detective to the other.  “This, uh, this wouldn’t have anything to do with the Goodman murders, now would it?”</p><p>Mike glanced up.  “This?” he asked, pointing vaguely at the files and papers on the desk in front of him.  He shook his head.  “This has nothing to do with the Goodmans.”</p><p>“Unh-hunh…” Olsen mumbled again.  A silence fell over them for several long beats as Mike continued reading.  Steve was still engaged with his phone conversation.  Olsen shifted his weight and cleared his throat.  “Listen, ah, you guys seem a little cramped here, ah… why don’t you move back up to your office, you know… spread out a bit…”</p><p>Mike looked up slowly.  “But we’re working on a fraud case here, Rudy.”</p><p>Olsen nodded, pursing his lips.  “Of course you are… but you could just as easily work on this, ah, this fraud case from your own desks, couldn’t you…?”</p><p>Mike nodded slowly.  “Yeah… yeah, I guess we could.”</p><p>Olsen smiled.  “Good.  Then, ah, then come and see me after you do…”  With a nod, he turned and slowly left the room.</p><p>Mike watched him go with a warm and grateful smile.  </p><p>Steve ended his conversation and hung up.  He nodded in the direction the captain had gone.  “What was that all about?”</p><p>His partner turned to him with an enigmatic grin.  He raised his right index finger and pointed at the ceiling.  “We’re going home, buddy boy, we’re going home.”</p>
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<a name="section0045"><h2>45. Chapter 45</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Mike closed his office door, turned to look around the small glass-walled room, and laughed.  Steve was sitting in the farthest guest chair, a notepad and a few sheets of paper in front of him, pulling the phone close.  He looked up at his partner and frowned.  “What’s so funny?”</p><p>“Well, I think Rudy assumed if we moved up here, you’d be using your own desk… and we’d have more room…”</p><p>Steve looked a little confused, starting to put the receiver back on the cradle.  “So, what?  Do you want me to move -?”</p><p>“No no no,” Mike chuckled quickly, crossing to his chair and sitting.  “No, it actually makes more sense that we’re within earshot of each other… but, I’m sorry, I just find it funny.”</p><p>Realizing what his partner was getting at, Steve shook his head and grinned.  “Well, at least up here we can use the top of the filing cabinet and the floor…”</p><p>“True,” Mike agreed with a facial shrug and a final laugh.</p><p>“What did Rudy want?”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>Steve nodded over his shoulder towards the bullpen.  “Just now.  What did he want to see you about?  He’s not pulling us off -?“</p><p>“No no no,” Mike said quickly, raising both hands.  “He’s, ah, he’s on to us.  But when I told him what we’d found out… well, let’s just say we don’t have carte blanche per se, but as long as we don’t broadcast what we’re doing, we have his blessing.  Seems, ah, seems he’s had his own run-in with O’Donnell recently.”</p><p>“Oh, yeah?  Did he tell you what it was about?”</p><p>“No,” Mike said pointedly, “and I didn’t ask.  He’ll tell me if he wants me to know but I don’t want to push him.  We’ve got him on our side and that’s all we can ask for right now.”  He nodded towards the papers.  “So, what were you going to tell me before we made the move?”</p><p>“Oh, ah, yeah, no luck so far on finding any more bank accounts for Northcott but there’s still a lot of options and a couple of banks haven’t gotten back to me yet.  But I found out some more about Charles Goodman’s estate.”  He punctuated his statement with a tilt of his head and raised eyebrows.</p><p>“Do tell.”</p><p>“Well, like we’d already heard, Goodman’s will stipulated that his estate was bequeathed to his wife and, in the event of her death, his son.  With the family wiped out, the estate was to be split between his sister and brother.”</p><p>“No Walter Northcott?”</p><p>Steve shook his head.  “No Walter Northcott.”</p><p>Mike frowned.</p><p>“But,” Steve held his right forefinger up, “it seems his wife had a will of her own, which left, of course, everything to her son, but in the event of the deaths of both of them, then everything went to her brother.”</p><p>Mike’s eyes narrowed.  “Do you think Walter knew this?” </p><p>Steve cocked his head again.  “Who knows…?  Chances are she may have mentioned it to him in passing.  I mean, from what we heard they were fairly close…. And from what I’ve uncovered, he’s fighting to get her half of the estate and, from what I’ve been told, he’s going to win.  Robert Goodman’s putting up a fight but he’s going to lose…”</p><p>“Was Walter close enough to his sister that he would kill her for the money, do you think?”  Mike asked rhetorically, frowning with a facial shrug.  “I mean, how much money are we talking about here?”</p><p>“Ah, well, that is interesting.  Remember being told about the inheritance the Goodmans got from their late aunt, who married into the DuPont family…?”</p><p>“Yeah, the inheritance that Robert Goodman thought should’ve been all his,” Mike intoned dryly.</p><p>“Yeah, that one,” Steve chuckled.  “Turns out that with that money and what his ‘salary’ was from his company, the estate was only worth about three quarters of a million.”</p><p>“Only?”</p><p>Steve chuckled again.  “Well, turns out Charles had a philanthropic streak like his sister and brother-in-law; he gave a lot away, to a lot of good causes.  But it seems his company wasn’t part of the estate.”</p><p>“It wasn’t?”</p><p>“No, I’m not sure why - maybe the lawyer can shed some light on that, not that it really matters I don’t think.  It seems there was a codicil to the will that designated his wife, and his wife alone, as the inheritor of the company in the event of his death.  Now why the son isn’t mentioned I don’t know, except maybe he just didn’t bother to change it yet or maybe he was thinking of expanding and adding a partner…?”  He shrugged in speculation.</p><p>Mike was frowning, his lips pursed, staring into space.  Eventually his head came up slowly.  “How much is the company worth, do you know?”</p><p>Steve smiled like the Cheshire cat.  “As a matter of fact, I do.  Seems it’s on the market.  The estate lawyer is handling the sale.  There’re four or five very interested parties… and the minimum bid right now is two million.”</p><p>“Two million…?” the older man almost whispered and his partner nodded.  “Well… you add that to the quarter million in life insurance and whatever he gets from his sister’s will… and that spells motive for murder to me.  What do you think?”</p><p>“I think with his sister, brother-in-law and nephew out of the way, Walter Northcott thought he was going to have a very good life.”</p><p>“Yeah… the sonuvabitch…”  Mike’s jaw tightened as he looked at his partner.  “I want to nail him so badly…”</p><p>Steve smiled in understanding.  “I know you do, but we gotta do this by the book, right?”</p><p>“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”</p><p>“Good.”  Steve sighed.  “So, what do you  -?”</p><p>The phone rang and they both looked at it before Mike picked it up.  “Homicide, Stone…. Hi, sweetheart…. Yeah… Yeah?  Just a sec and I’ll ask him.”  He put his hand over the mouthpiece, his eyes wide and excited.  “Jeannie thinks we should take the night off.  She’s got her hands on three tickets to the Giants game tonight.  You wanna go?”</p><p>His face alight, Steve glanced at his watch.  “If we leave right now and pick her up, we can make the first pitch.”</p><p>Mike took his hand off the mouthpiece.  “We’re on our way!”</p><p># # # # #</p><p> </p><p>“What time did you get in this morning?” a surprised Steve snorted with a laugh as he leaned against the doorframe.  “I thought you said you were going to try to sleep in.”</p><p>With a soft chuckle, Mike looked up, taking off his glasses.  “Well, it seems no matter what time I go to bed, I always wake up around 5:30, quarter to 6…. It used to drive my wife nuts.”</p><p>Shaking his head, Steve took a couple of steps into the room and loomed over the desk.  “Anything new?”</p><p>“Since last night?” Mike laughed, putting his glasses back on.  “Nope.  I was just going over everything in case we might’ve missed something yesterday.”  He looked up and smiled.  “But I can’t find anything we missed.  We’re pretty good, you know that?”</p><p>“I’m starting to get that idea,” Steve chuckled, turning away from the desk after picking up the empty cup.  “You want another coffee?”</p><p>“Oh, yes, please,” the older man murmured without looking up.</p><p>“That was fun last night,” Steve raised his voice to be heard in the inner office as he poured two mugs.  “Thank Jeannie again for me for those tickets.  I don’t know how she got ‘em, right behind the dugout, but I’m not complaining.”</p><p>“Especially not when they win, either.  Yeah, I’ll thank her again…”  Mike’s voice trailed off.</p><p>Frowning, Steve picked up the two mugs and moved back into the small office.  His partner was staring intently at an open file of the photocopies on the desk.  “You found something?”</p><p>There were a few longs seconds of silence, during which he put one of the cups on the desk, before Mike looked up, his attention still elsewhere.  “Humh?  What?”</p><p>Smiling, Steve gestured towards the file with his cup as he sat.  “Did you find something?”</p><p>Mike glanced down at the file then chuckled.  “Ah, no, thought I did but… false alarm.”</p><p>“What are you looking for anyway?”</p><p>“Same thing that’s been keeping me up for the past few nights:  who pulled the trigger.  I’m a hundred percent sure is wasn’t Northcott.  He may have the smarts but he doesn’t have the cojones, as the kids say.”</p><p>Steve closed his eyes and shook his head, chuckling.  Mike smiled.</p><p>“Anyway, I thought maybe he might have the… balls to take out a life insurance policy on his gun happy associate.”</p><p>“Ooo, that’s good thinking.  Any luck?”</p><p>Mike made a face, shaking his head.  “No, not so far.  And I’m almost through the ones I photocopied.”  He shrugged.  “Oh well, nothing ventured…”  He had just picked up the mug to take a sip when the phone rang.  “Homicide, Stone…. Yes… Yes, of course.”  He put the cup down quickly and glanced at his watch.  “Ah, sure.  Yeah, we can be there in about a half-hour…. Great, we’ll see you then.  And thank-you… You’re very welcome.”  He hung up, staring at the receiver for a long beat before looking at his partner.  “That was Linda Wilson.  She, ah, she wants to talk to us about Walter.”</p><p>His eyes widening, Steve sat forward, almost slamming his cup on the desk in his haste to get up.  Mike threw his glasses on the file as he bolted to his feet, grabbing his hat and coat on his way out the door.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>“I’m sorry about yesterday, Lieutenant,” Linda Wilson apologized as she closed the door behind the two detectives.  “It’s just you… well, you caught me by surprise and I wasn’t sure how I really wanted to respond.”</p><p>“That’s quite all right,” Mike reassured as they followed her into the living room.  “And it’s Mike, remember?”  He smiled warmly as they sat on the floral sofa once more.</p><p>“Thank you,” she sighed with obvious regret.  “Could I get you a coffee or something…?”</p><p>The men shook their heads.  “No, thank you,” Mike spoke for them both.</p><p>Nodding almost absent-mindedly, she sat in the armchair, her hands clasped in her lap.  She looked very uncomfortable.</p><p>“So what is it you wanted to tell us?” Mike asked calmly and smoothly.</p><p>“Well, after you left yesterday, I got to thinking… and I guess you could say I had a change of heart.  I did a lot of soul-searching last night, believe me.”  She paused, and they resisted the urge to prompt her, knowing from long experience that she would tell them what she wanted to in her own time.</p><p>“I want to make it clear, before I tell you what you want to hear, that I still don’t believe Walter is responsible in any way for what happened to Charlie and Jane and Robbie, and I never will believe that.  I just can’t…. But Walter wasn’t a perfect man, he wasn’t a perfect husband… not by a long shot, as they say.”</p><p>She glanced down at her hands and the cops exchanged a look.  Exhaling sharply, her head came back up.  “I had no idea Walter was… embezzling from the firm, none whatsoever, and I still find it hard to believe, but that’s not what I want to tell you about.  I did know all about his… girlfriends… and his propensity for spending money that he really didn’t have.  Oh, he made a good salary at Bay Area, from his commissions, no doubt about that, but he had a lot of girlfriends and he took them to the best places in town… places he never took me.”  She smiled sadly and looked down again.</p><p>“He, ah, he was a very… well, I guess you could call him a social animal…”  She paused with a slight smile when she caught the skeptical look on Mike’s face.  “I know he didn’t seem so at first blush, Lieu-… Mike, but he was, and we threw a lot of lavish parties here that cost a lot of money but he always used to assure me that money was no problem, that he was doing very well.”</p><p>Steve resisted the urge to murmur ‘He certainly was’ under his breath.</p><p>“So it wasn’t until we were in the midst of our divorce settlement that I found out that during our marriage he had taken out at least three credit cards in my name and run up charges well over their limits… and essentially ruining my credit rating.  I’m, ah, I’m still trying to get that fixed.”  She smiled mirthlessly.</p><p>Steve watched as his partner looked down at the floor, his jaw muscles tensing, and he knew the older man was having an increasingly hard time trying to keep his temper.  </p><p>She looked at them, a deep sadness in her eyes.  “I really can’t believe he had anything to do with the deaths, I really don’t… but if he did…”  She paused again and swallowed heavily.  “But if he did, then I’m sure that he arranged it… He couldn’t do it himself.  Like I told you before, and please believe me, I’m not lying, and if you want me to take a polygraph test, I will… He was here at home with me, and he did talk to Jane on the phone that night.  I’ll swear to it.”</p><p>Mike nodded softly.  “We believe you.”</p><p>She nodded and dropped her head.  When she looked up again, there was almost a fire in her eyes.  “Walter didn’t kill them, but if he did have something to do with it, then his best friend had something to do with it too.”</p><p>Both detectives froze imperceptibly.  This was what they had been waiting for.</p><p>“In all your investigations of Walter, have you heard the name Peter Turnbull?”</p>
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<a name="section0046"><h2>46. Chapter 46</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Mike was staring at her without blinking.  He could sense his partners eyes flash briefly in his direction, felt the held breath.  “Peter Turnbull?”</p><p>She nodded once.</p><p>He shook his head slowly.  “No… no, we haven’t.”</p><p>She smiled mirthlessly and took a deep breath.  “Then I suggest you start there.”</p><p>Steve leaned forward.  “Who is Peter Turnbull?”</p><p>“He’s Walter’s best friend, has been for years.  I’m not sure when they met, but they were friends before Walter and I got together.  He’s, ah, he’s always been a part of our lives…”  Her eyes dropped to the floor again.  “But I never trusted him, I never liked being in his company.”</p><p>“Why was that?” Mike asked softly.</p><p>She looked up, her brow deeply furrowed.  “Peter’s… charismatic, to some people, and he’s very accomplished.  He has a law degree, although he never practiced.”  She smiled mirthlessly.  “But I always got the impression that he wanted to be a criminal more than he ever wanted to be a lawyer.”</p><p>“What kind of criminal?” </p><p>She stared straight into the lieutenant’s eyes.  “If you mean, could he have been the one to pull the trigger… then no, I don’t think so.”  She shook her head almost imperceptibly.  “But I’m sure, if Walter is responsible for what happened the Goodmans, then Peter was a part of it as well.”</p><p>Steve had taken out his notebook and was quickly writing all this down.  “Ah, Ms. Wilson, do you have any idea where we could find Peter Turnbull?”</p><p>She smiled wryly again.  “That won’t be hard.  He’s living with Walter in that new house on 32nd.”</p><p># # # # #</p><p>Mike was slumped in the front seat, staring through the windshield.  He exhaled loudly.  “Wow.<br/>Okay, I, ah, I wasn’t expecting that.  Were you?”</p><p>Chuckling, Steve stuck the key in the ignition and turned it; the powerful engine roared to life.  “Nope, but I’m sure glad she decided to talk to us again.”</p><p>“Me too.”</p><p>The car pulled away from the curb.  “So, where to?  Back to Bryant Street or do you want to go have a talk with Peter Turnbull?”</p><p>“Oh no no no,” Mike said quickly, shaking his head.  “I want to have a lot more information before we show up on their doorstep.”  He glanced at his watch.  “Listen, ah, let’s stop at Mario’s on the way and I’ll spring for a couple of dogs.  How does that sound?”</p><p># # # # #</p><p>“Okay, here’s the scoop on Peter Turnbull,” Steve said as he walked into Mike’s office with an open file folder in one hand.  He dropped into the guest chair.  “He was born in Richmond in ’39, studied law at Berkeley and passed the bar in ’64… before my time, by the way,” he chuckled before continuing.  “Married Eleanor Harmon in ’65.  No kids.  And, guess what?”  He looked up and smirked.  “He got a divorce last month…”</p><p>Mike leaned back in the swivel chair.  “No kidding…” he snorted sarcastically, shaking his head.  “What about his criminal career?”</p><p>“Yep, got that too.  Nothing major but still…. ‘Uttering threats’, ‘shoplifting’,” Steve looked up again, smiling dryly.  “He started small, I guess… warming up.  Let’s see, ah, ‘unlawful use of a weapon’ -“</p><p>“Does it go into any detail?” Mike interrupted.</p><p>Steve shook his head.</p><p>“Find out what kind of weapon it was, especially if it was a Colt Buntline.”</p><p>Steve nodded.  “Good point.  Uh, one arrest for assault but it was thrown out - I’ll find out about that as well.”  He continued to scan the report but found nothing else of value.  He closed the file.  “Well, he’s not Al Capone but there is a pattern.”  He stood up.  “I’ll get more details.”  He noticed some new papers on the desk.  “What have you got there?”</p><p>Mike looked down.  “This?  Oh, just came in.  Seems Walter Northcott’s good friend Peter Turnbull has an… interesting credit history.  Up until about a month or so ago, he had one credit card, that we know of, and he paid it off, or at least most of it, every month.  Since then, however, he’s acquired two cards, both in his name, and they are already very close their upper credit limits.  And - you’re gonna like this,” he chuckled, “I also found out that they each purchased very expensive automobiles in the past three weeks - a Mercedes 450SLC for Turnbull and a Jaguar XJ6 for Northcott.”</p><p>“Oh ho, nice rides…”</p><p>Mike tilted his head.  “You can say that again.”</p><p>“They seem to be living a little high on the hog, don’t they?”</p><p>“They certainly do.  I think it might be time to pay them a visit.”  He glanced at his watch then exhaled loudly.  “Too late to do it today…. How about first thing tomorrow?  We don’t need to go in there accusing them of anything but I just want to see how they react, especially Northcott.”</p><p>“That sounds like a good idea.  Rattle the cage, so to speak…”</p><p>“Yeah,” Mike agreed almost absent-mindedly, his focus obviously somewhere else momentarily.  He shook his head sharply and looked at his partner, smiling suddenly.  He picked up his coffee cup and stood.  “Come on, I’ll buy you a cup,” he said with a laugh as he started to circle the desk.  The phone rang and he stopped, reaching back to snag the receiver.  “Homicide, Stone…. Yes, it is… I see, yes…”  He frowned deeply, moving back behind the desk and sitting.  He picked up a pen and pulled a pad closer, writing furiously.  “Yes…  Yes, I’ve got it…  Of course…  Yes… Thank you very much, and we’ll see you tomorrow morning.  Goodbye.”  He hung up without looking, continuing to stare at what he had written on the pad.</p><p>Steve, who was at the door, stepped closer to the desk.  “Who was that?”</p><p>Mike looked up slowly, looking slightly stunned.  “That,” he said with a soft, disbelieving snort, “was Eleanor Turnbull, Peter Turnbull’s ex-wife.  She said Linda Wilson told her to call me.  She wants to talk to us about her ex-husband.  She’ll be expecting us at her place at 9 tomorrow morning.”</p><p># # # # #</p><p>The front door opened and closed.  Jeannie, stirring a pot of gravy on the stove, waited for her father to join her in the kitchen but when he didn’t, she turned the burner down, put the lid on the pot and, with a frown, walked into the living room.  </p><p>He was sitting in the recliner, the footrest up, his tie loosened, his hat still on, his head back and his eyes closed.  She crossed towards him quietly, her frown turning from curiosity to concern.</p><p>“Mike, are you okay?” she asked quietly.</p><p>The blue eyes opened under the lowered brim of the fedora and he smiled wearily.  “Hi, sweetheart.”  He nodded slightly.  “Yeah, I’m fine… just a little tired, I guess.”  </p><p>She moved closer, sitting on the arm of the recliner and reaching out to put her arm around his shoulders.  She was trying, somewhat awkwardly, to hug him when he scooted sideways in the large chair and she slid off the arm down beside him, giggling.  His wrapped his arm around her and pulled her tight, resting his cheek against the top of her head.  She melted into him, her head against his chest.</p><p>They sat that way for several long silent minutes.  Eventually she asked softly, “Are you getting any closer?”</p><p>She felt him inhale deeply then his head move as he nodded.  “Umh-humh,” he mumbled, his voice tired but determined.  “A lot closer.”</p><p>She pulled her head back so she could look up into his eyes.  “You’re going to be able to prove that woman didn’t kill her husband and her son?”</p><p>He was staring at her with a warm smile.  “Umh-humh,” he nodded softly again.  </p><p>She bit her lips, her eyes brightening, then snuggled back into him, laying a hand lightly on his chest over his heart.  She felt him sigh as he rested his cheek against her head again.</p><p>After another few very long minutes, she pulled away, turning to face him once more.  She smiled as he stared at her with so much love it almost took her breath away.  Her smile widening, she put her hand lightly on his chest again.  “I’ve gotta finish cooking your dinner.  And then after you eat, I want you to go to bed and get a good night’s sleep.  Deal?”</p><p>He continued to stare silently for a couple of seconds then he smiled.  “Whatever you say, boss…”</p><p>With a smirk and a cartoonish sigh, she leaned forward to kiss him then pushed herself out of the chair and disappeared into the kitchen.  He let his head fall back onto the chair, the fedora falling down over his eyes.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>Eleanor Harmon was a good-looking, bottle blonde in her late 30’s, and a woman whose life had taken a turn she hadn’t expected.  And as they settled on the black leather sofa in her small Greenwich Street apartment, they surreptitiously took in the tastefully decorated room.</p><p>She smiled pleasantly as she sat back and crossed her legs, paying more than just cursory attention to the handsome young inspector.  As he had done many times during their partnership, Mike managed to keep his amusement well hidden.</p><p>“So where do you want me to start, gentlemen?” she asked conversationally but there was a wariness in her eyes that told them more than she realized.</p><p>Slightly taken aback by her bluntness, Mike smiled.  “Well,” he started genially, slowly turning the fedora in his hands as he leaned forward, his elbows on his thighs, “you said you were friends with Linda Northcott and her husband and… well, we’d like to know a little more about your ex-husband and his relationship with Walter Northcott.”</p><p>She smiled coldly.  “All right… ask me anything.”</p><p>Steve leaned forward, not unaware of the interest emanating from the other side of the large glass coffee table.  “How long have your ex-husband and Northcott been friends?”</p><p>She shrugged nonchalantly.  “I couldn’t give you an exact date, but I think they met in high school or just after.  They were friends before I ever met Peter.”</p><p>“He’s a lawyer, your ex-husband?” Mike asked and her eyes snapped to him, frowning.</p><p>“Yes… if you want to call him that.  He never practiced.  He never had any interest in practicing.  He preferred to make a living by other means.”</p><p>“What ‘means’ would that be?” Steve asked, picking up the thread, and her eyes softened when they settled on him again.</p><p>“Well, he never did anything that put him in jail for any length of time, if that’s what you mean, but he never did anything that would earn him any civic awards either, if you get my drift.”</p><p>Mike smiled wryly.  “Completely.”  He cleared his throat softly.  “Do you think he’s capable of doing anything… of a physical nature?”</p><p>Her eyes, that had slowly drifted towards the young inspector again, snapped back to him, surprised.  She stared at him coldly for a long beat, inhaling deeply then asked flatly, “Do you mean could he kill a baby?”</p><p>Meeting her stare evenly, Mike nodded slowly.</p><p>She continued to stare expressionlessly, then dropped her eyes and shook her head.  “No…. No, I don’t think he could.  But he is dangerous.”</p><p>The partners exchanged a quick look.  “What do you mean ‘dangerous’?” Steve asked.</p><p>She looked up at him, and this time there was fear in her eyes.  “They… he and Walt have a… a strange relationship.  They… feed off each other.  That’s the only way I can describe it.”  She pursed her lips, looking from one detective to the other.  “Peter likes to play around… just like Walt does.  We both knew, Linda and I, and we turned a blind eye… but you can only do that for so long.”</p><p>“Do you think Walter had anything to do with the deaths of his sister’s family?” Mike asked bluntly.</p><p>She waited for a long second before closing her eyes and nodding slightly.  “And if he did, Peter had something to do with it too.  I’d make book on it.”</p><p>“But you just said that he couldn’t kill a baby…”</p><p>“He couldn’t… neither of them could.”  She swallowed heavily.  “But Peter has an… associate, I guess you could call him, who does his dirty work for him.  Someone I met only once or twice but who literally scared the hell out of me.”  Both detectives froze.  She licked her lips, uncrossing her legs and leaning forward, resting her elbows on her knees and bringing her clasped hands up to her chin.  She stared at Mike and inhaled deeply.  “He was in prison a few years ago for manslaughter.  His name is Gene Hayes.”</p>
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<a name="section0047"><h2>47. Chapter 47</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Gene Hayes,” Mike repeated, his voice even and unhurried.  Only Steve, looking down at his notebook as he scribbled furiously, could possibly know his partner was positively vibrating with suppressed elation.  </p><p>Ms. Harmon nodded.  “It could be Eugene, I don’t know,” she shrugged.  </p><p>“And this Gene Hayes… he lives here in San Francisco?”</p><p>She shook her head.  “No.  No, I think he lives down around San Jose.”</p><p>“And he’s an ‘associate’ of your ex-husband?  Can you elaborate on that?”</p><p>Her mouth was a straight, taut line.  It was obviously a topic she wasn’t comfortable talking about.  “Like I said, he used to do Peter’s… dirty work.  The stuff that was a little further over the line, criminal-wise, than Peter was willing to go…”  She snorted wryly.  “Although that line was getting further and further away for Peter, I think.”  She paused, swallowing heavily and shaking her head in anger.  “Look, I tried to… divorce myself,” her sarcastic smile was brief and pointed, “from the shadier side of my ex-husband’s business life so I only met Mr. Hayes a few times… but every time he made my skin crawl.  He’s a repulsive, reptilian little man with the coldest eyes I’ve ever seen.”</p><p>Mike nodded slowly.  “Do you know which prison he was in?”</p><p>“I have no idea.  I think I heard them say Folsom at some point but I wasn’t really paying attention.  I only know that whenever he was around, I tried to make myself scarce.”</p><p>“So… in your opinion… would Gene Hayes be capable of killing a woman… and a baby?”</p><p>She stared at him without blinking for a very long second.  “I have no doubt,” she finally said.</p><p>Mike’s blood ran cold.  He paused for a moment, letting it all sink in.  He was just about to ask her if she knew where and when her ex-husband met Hayes when she suddenly blurted out, “There are letters.”</p><p>Both detectives looked at her, frowning, not sure if they had heard correctly.</p><p>“Pardon me?” Steve reacted.</p><p>She looked at him, raising her eyebrows.  “Letters.  When Hayes was in prison, he wrote to Peter… and Peter wrote back.  I’m sure there are still some letters in the house.”</p><p>“Here?”</p><p>“No,” Ms. Harmon said almost impatiently, shaking her head, “the old house, the house we shared.  It’s still ours, it hasn’t sold yet.  It’s empty.  I took what I wanted out of it but I think Peter’s stuff is still there.”</p><p>Mike sat forward slightly, trying not to betray his excitement.  If Gene Hayes was proven to be the trigger man, a paper trail linking him to Turnbull and Northcott would be as good as gold to the prosecution.  “Do you still have a key to the house?”</p><p>“Of course I do.  Half that house is still mine, no matter what Peter says.”  She looked defiantly from one detective to the other.  “Would you like me to get it for you?”</p><p>Both men smiled.  “Yes, Ms. Harmon, we really would,” Mike nodded.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>The empty Turnbull house was a two-storey beige stucco residence on Chestnut with a ‘For Sale’ sign in the front window.  Most of the living room furniture was gone, and it was in need of a good paint job and a little tender loving care before it was ready to sell.</p><p>They split up, Mike staying on the ground floor and Steve climbing the stairs to the second.  The older detective was rifling through the drawers in the spacious kitchen when he heard his name called.  He found Steve sitting on the edge of the bed in the master bedroom, an open shoe box on his lap and a stack of letters beside him.  </p><p>The younger man looked up with a smile somewhere between grim and triumphant.  “I found this under the bed.  Our former Mrs. Turnbull was right, her husband kept the letters.  There’s only three from Hayes.”  He tossed them towards the end of the bed closer to his partner as he continued to rifle through the shoe box.</p><p>Mike picked up the letters, checking out the return address.  On the top left corner in black ink was printed G. Hayes, a prisoner number below that, then Represa, CA 95671.  “They’re from Folsom all right.”  He took one of the letters out and, after fishing his reading glasses out of his inside jacket pocket, started to read.</p><p>“Which is which, do you think?” Steve asked with a chuckle, holding out a 5x7 colour photo of two grinning men, both holding beer bottles and staring at the camera.  </p><p>Mike leaned forward slightly to get a better look.  “I have a feeling the reptilian-looking man on the right is Hayes, don’t you?”</p><p>Steve looked at it and snorted.  “I think you’re right.”</p><p>Mike gestured at the shoe box with his chin.  “What else is in there?”</p><p>“Photos… more letters…. You want to take it?”</p><p>“Yeah, take it all.”  </p><p>Nodding, Steve collected everything he had laid out on the bed while Mike put the letter back in the envelop then put the letters in the box.  The older cop looked around the room.  “Okay, let’s be thorough.  We’re not gonna get back in there without a warrant so we might as well take advantage of her… generosity while we’ve got the chance.”</p><p># # # # #</p><p>The letters in the shoe box were the only things in the house they could find that tied Peter Turnbull to Gene Hayes; it wasn’t much but it was a good start.  When they got back to Bryant Street, they began pulling together everything they could find on Gene Hayes.  It didn’t take long.</p><p>The 40-year-old had a long history of criminal activity, stretching all the way back to his early teens, everything from truancy, break-and-enter, DUI and assault, all the way up to the manslaughter conviction Eleanor Harmon told them about.</p><p>“The manslaughter charge,” Steve read from the file in his hand as he sat carefully in Mike’s guest chair, trying not to spill the coffee in his other hand as he put the cup on the desk, “was the result of a fight that he got into in a bar in San Jose.  Seems he was carrying and when he got into a fight with a fellow drunken patron that spilled out into the alley behind the bar, a shot was fired and the other guy took a round in the stomach, bled out at the scene.  Because they couldn’t prove intent, and Hayes insisted the gun went off accidentally during the struggle, he was charged with involuntary manslaughter and got 18 months.”</p><p>Mike had been listening with a frown.  “Does it mention what make and model gun it was?”</p><p>Steve scanned the report.  “No, this one doesn’t.  I’ll give San Jose a call and see if they have that information.”</p><p>“Good.  And find out if they knew where that gun went to.  When did he get out?”</p><p>“Ah, about six months ago.”</p><p>“So he’s out and about, hunh?  Well, he’s definitely jumped to the top of our list, has’t he?”</p><p>Steve nodded, eyebrows raised.</p><p>“Got an address on him?”</p><p>“Yeah.  Ms. Harmon,” Steve said the name with an inflection that caused his partner to smile and chuckle, “was right, he lives in San Jose.  155 E. Julian, apartment 2A.”  He took a small colour photo out of the file and dropped it on the desk in front of his partner.  “That’s his DMV photo.”</p><p>Mike snorted.  “He does’t look any less reptilian, does he?”</p><p>The younger man laughed.  “I think everyone looks reptilian in their DMV photos, don’t you?”</p><p>“Yeah, you might have a point there,” Mike chuckled affectionately.  “What else you got?”</p><p>Steve shrugged.  “Well, that’s it for now.  I’m still waiting for his credit card charges, see if maybe he was in the area here on the night in question.  Maybe if we’re lucky, he had dinner or got gas or something and used a credit card, but somehow methinks he’s not that dumb.”  He looked up to find Mike staring at him blankly overtop of the black reading glasses.  “What?”</p><p>“Methinks?” the older man intoned dryly.  “What, you’ve been reading Shakespeare or something?”</p><p>“Yeah, in all the spare time I’ve had lately,” came the sarcastic reply.  They both chuckled.  Steve nodded at the papers scattered on the desk.  “Anything incriminating in those letters?”</p><p>Mike looked down and shook his head.  “Nothing that points to Hayes being the trigger man in the Goodman murders, if that’s what you mean.  It’s about some small-time stuff they did in the past and vague references to fraud stuff they had going.  But all these letters were vetted by the prison anyway so I really wasn’t expecting anything of any value.  And, before you ask, there’s no mention of a girlfriend… or any other friends or third parties for that matter.”</p><p>Steve nodded; it was still disappointing, he had to admit.  They both returned to their respective reading.  </p><p>After a few silent minutes, Mike leaned back in the chair and took his glasses off.  “You know, with everything we’ve got here - and we’ve got a lot, don’t get me wrong…. But with everything we managed to uncover, we still have nothing we can take to Gerry unless we can get that gun.  It’s all hearsay and circumstantial right now, all of it.”  He sighed heavily.</p><p>Steve was nodding slowly.  “Yeah, I know….  I’ve been thinking about that too…”  He leaned back in the chair, extending his legs and, after a quick stretch, laced his fingers behind his head.  Mike hadn’t moved, and he was staring unfocused somewhere just above the desk top.  Steve frowned.  “What are you thinking?”</p><p>Mike started slightly.  “Humh?”</p><p>“I know that look… you’re thinking about something…. What is it?”</p><p>The older man snorted softly, like he was caught out, then sat up a little straighter.  “What do you think the chances are Hayes has got a girlfriend?”</p><p>Steve tilted his head with a facial shrug.  “It’s not beyond the realm of possibility…. if you like the reptilian type…”</p><p>They both laughed.  The phone on Steve’s desk started to ring.  Still chuckling, he got to his feet and crossed to his desk.  “Homicide, Keller.”</p><p>Mike put on his glasses and reached for the file Steve had left.  A sudden flurry of movement from his partner’s desk caught his attention; Steve had sat and was scribbling something furiously, his head bobbing.  The conversation finished, the young inspector slammed the receiver onto the cradle as he stood, ripping the top sheet off the pad and almost jogging back to his partner’s office.  Mike raised his eyebrows.</p><p>“That was the sergeant I talked to in San Jose about Hayes.  You’re not going to believe this.  He’s back in lock-up.  Hayes was arrested two days ago for aggravated assault.  Seems he got into another bar fight.  And the charges are going to stick; there’s witnesses.  The guy he beat up is in the hospital down there and he might not make it so the charges could be upped to murder.  He’s being held without bail.”</p><p>Mike’s eyes narrowed as he took all this in.  “Sonuvabitch…  Well, at least we know where he is…” he said softly then he shrugged.  “It really doesn’t change anything, does it, except that we know he has a violent streak, but we kinda knew that already too…. But it sounds like he’s not gonna be going anywhere for awhile so that buys us some time… which is not a bad thing…”  His focus had drifted away slightly and Steve sunk slowly into the guest chair, watching and listening.</p><p>“What are you thinking…?”</p><p>“Well, I want to know a lot more about this Eugene Hayes… like who he runs with, other than our Mr. Turnbull, and I want to know if he has a lady friend or two… and I want to know if anyone would be willing to talk to us about him…”  He smiled at his young partner.</p><p>“And that means you want someone to talk to his… friends… in a… casual setting…?” Steve ventured with a slight smile.  “Like in that bar where he just had the fight.  Someone… closer to his age maybe…?”</p><p>Mike smiled enigmatically.  “You’re reading my mind, Buddy Boy, you’re reading my mind…”</p>
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<a name="section0048"><h2>48. Chapter 48</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Just got a follow-up call from Palo Alta,” Steve called from his desk as he got up and started towards the inner office.  “That gun Hayes used in the manslaughter case?”  He glanced at his partner and grinned.  “It was a Colt Buntline, he could prove it was his legally, and when he finished his sentence, they gave it back to him.”</p><p>“Of course they did,” Mike grumbled under his breath, tossing his glasses on the desk in frustration.  “What about the fatal slug?  Do they still have it?”</p><p>“Well, that’s another problem…” Steve began hesitantly with a mirthless chuckle, “it’s supposedly in their records somewhere but because it’s no longer an open case, it could take them awhile to find it… if they can find it…”</p><p>Mike grimaced.  “I thought this was going along too easily…”  He exhaled loudly.  “Okay, well, back to plan A.”</p><p>“Plan A?”</p><p>“Cherchez la femme!” the older man laughed, raising his right forefinger.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>The Bottom of The Barrel was as classy an establishment as the name suggested.  Steve pushed the heavy wooden door open, taking off his dark glasses so he could see his hand in front of his face.  The place was crowded and noisy, with leather-clad bodies stacked two-deep at the bar, all the small round tables filled, and heavy metal music blasting from speakers hanging from the wood-beamed ceiling.  A thick pall of cigarette smoke hung in the air, as did the stale smell of beer and fried food. </p><p>As he pushed his way through the crowd to get nearer to the bar, he could hear the thwack of pool balls hitting each other and surmised there had to be at least one table in the establishment somewhere.</p><p>He was wearing a maroon shirt under a dark brown leather jacket, black jeans and black motorcycle boots.  He’d driven up in the Porsche, parking it near the rows of choppers hoping to catch some attention, figuring that no one would expect a cop to be driving such an eye-catching sports car.</p><p>He and Mike had come up with a plan, and he hoped it would work.  They had decided to grab the bull by the horns so to speak and, if it was successful, it could blow their case wide open.</p><p>It took a few minutes but he finally managed to squeeze his way between people to the bar.  There were three bartenders, two men and a woman.  He finally got the attention of one of the men, who leaned close and yelled, “What can I get ya, fella?”</p><p>“I’ll have a Lucky,” Steve yelled back and the bartender nodded.  Within seconds, the frosty glass of lager was on the bar in front of him.  He reached into his pocket and threw two dollar bills on the bar.  As he picked up the glass, he beckoned the bartender closer.  “Listen,” he raised his voice loud enough to be heard but not loud enough to deafen the man, “I’m looking for a guy named Gene Hayes.  I heard he hangs out here.  Do you know him?”</p><p>At the mention of the name the other man’s face darkened and he pulled back.  “Yeah, he hung out here but you’re not gonna run into him anytime soon.  He’s in the can.  He beat the shit outa somebody here a few days ago and got his ass arrested.”</p><p>Steve feigned surprise.  “No shit?”  He exhaled loudly and angrily.  “Stupid asshole.  He owes me money.”  He pretended to think, feeling the bartender’s eyes on him.  “Listen, ah, is there anybody here who knows him, anybody he hangs with?  A girlfriend or something?”</p><p>The other man nodded, leaning back and wiping a once-white rag across the wooden bar.  “Yeah, his girlfriend is in here somewhere.  Name’s Rachel.  She’s about yay-high,” he put his hand up to his mid-chest, “redhead, about 35… and she wears a beat-up old straw cowboy hat.”  He glanced at the crowd.  “Ask around, a lot of people know who she is.”  He backed away, turning to another customer.</p><p>Mumbling a “Thanks”, Steve picked up his beer and pushed his way back towards the entrance where there was a little more space and he could see more of the room.  It took awhile, but he finally spotted his quarry sitting on a tall ladder-back chair at a small round table with another woman.  They were both drinking beers straight out of the bottle.</p><p>He watched them discreetly for a couple of minutes, trying to glean any clues as to her personality from her mannerisms, something Mike had taught him over the years, then took a deep breath and approached her confidently.</p><p>“Rachel?” he asked when he was within earshot in the noisy room.  </p><p>Dark blue, annoyed eyes turned sharply in his direction, softening perceptibly when they fell on the handsome young man standing near her elbow.  A slightly lascivious smile curled her bright red lips as she looked him up and down.  “Who’s asking?”  Her girlfriend’s chuckle was deep and dirty.</p><p>Bestowing upon her his most charming smile, Steve bowed his head slightly.  “Cal… Cal Newman.”</p><p>“Well, hello, Cal Newman.  And how do you know me?”</p><p>“I’m, ah, I’m an… acquaintance, I guess you could call it, of Gene’s.”</p><p>Rachel’s face instantly turned dark and cold and, after glaring at him for a beat, looked at her friend on the other side of the table.  With an angry shake of her head and a loud, very pointed exhale, the friend slipped off her chair and disappeared into the crowd.</p><p>Steve stepped confidently to the vacated chair and sat, putting his beer on the table, as if staking out his territory.  His heart started to pound.</p><p>“How do you know Gene?”  Her tone seemed flat and uninterested but he knew better.</p><p>“We spent some time together in Folsom.”</p><p>Her eyes narrowed.  “What were you in for?”</p><p>“Manslaughter.”  He pretended to debate whether giving her any more details.  “I, ah, I hit another car when I was drunk.  Killed an old couple.”</p><p>She stared at him blankly for a few seconds then nodded at his beer.  “It hasn’t stopped you drinking, has it?”</p><p>Smiling coldly, he picked up the glass and took a big gulp.</p><p>She laughed and shook her head, looking down at the table.</p><p>“So Gene’s not here tonight?”</p><p>She laughed again, this time coldly ironic.  “Oh, good ol’ Gene’s not gonna be around for a long time.”  At his frown, she continued, “Dumb bastard got in a fight here the other night and almost beat a guy to death… still might. The guy’s in the hospital in critical condition and Gene’s in jail and they’re not letting him out this time.”</p><p>Steve slumped back in the chair.  “Shit…”</p><p>Rachel frowned.  “Why?  What did you need to see him for?”</p><p>He looked furtively around the crowded bar before leaning over the table conspiratorially, leaning on his forearms, and waited.  After a beat, realizing what he was expecting her to do, she leaned towards him.  “He told me he had a gun for sale…  the one he used in the shooting that put him in Folsom.  I told him I wanted a gun when I got out, and he said he’d sell me the one he had…”</p><p>She stared at him for a few long seconds, then sat back.  “I don’t know anything about a gun… sorry.”</p><p>He knew she was lying.  Nodding slowly, he sat back.  He wasn’t worried; he had all night to ply his charms.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>The noisy bar didn’t get any quieter as the evening wore on.  Using all his training and guile, he not only kept Rachel company but managed to talk her into moving to one of the small back booths when one finally opened up so they could continue their conversation at a decibel level below a shout.</p><p>She seemed to be warming up to him, and he decided early on to take his time.  There was no rush, and even if it took several days to win her confidence, that was totally in the cards.</p><p>They had talked about a wide variety of things but mostly about his criminal past, her bad luck with men and how they each saw the world.  ‘Cal Newman’ had grown up in Central California, a son of privilege, who hated the family money and drifted into drugs and booze after his father got him a deferment for Vietnam.  His family had hoped the stint in Folsom would straighten out their ‘Golden Child’ but it had only made him worse.</p><p>The waitress delivered another round of beers and two plates of burgers and fries to their table and they clinked bottle and glass before taking sips.  She was staring at him over the top of the bottle as he put the glass down and picked up the burger.</p><p>“Why do you want a gun?” she asked quietly, the question coming out of nowhere.</p><p>Despite his suddenly pounding heart, Steve brought the burger smoothly to his mouth and took a bite, raising his eyebrows to let her know he’d answer after he swallowed.  He knew he needed the food to start to counteract the beer, or it was going to be a very long night…</p><p>After he swallowed, he leaned towards her.  “I’ve gotta get outa state, put some distance between me and my old man and everything he stands for.  So I’m gonna hit the road and just keep on drivin’ till I find a place where I want to… I don’t know… maybe settle down for awhile.  And I need something to protect my, ah, my pretty sweet ride while I do that.”  He grinned mischievously at her, picking up a fry and popping it into his mouth.</p><p>She frowned with a curious smile.  “What kinda ‘sweet ride’ have you got?”</p><p>He bobbed his eyebrows, his grin getting impossibly wider.  “A Porsche,” he answered quietly.</p><p>Her head snapped back.  “No shit?!  You got it here?” she asked, leaning forward again.</p><p>He nodded as he took another bite of his burger.  “Umh-humh… right out front,” he chuckled with his mouth full.</p><p>“I gotta see that,” she said to herself, picking up the ketchup bottle and twisting the cap off.</p><p>Still chewing, Steve tilted his head.  “That can be arranged,” he said quietly after he swallowed.</p><p>Pouring a large blob of ketchup on the side of her plate, she looked up at him with a slight frown.  When he continued to stare and smile, her features softened and she nodded.  “Great,” she mumbled under her breath.</p><p>“Anyway,” he continued, trying to move the conversation back to the gun, “because of my… criminal background the only way I can get one is, well, not legal.  So when Gene told me about his badass Colt, I thought, shit, that’s the gun for me.”  He sighed loudly, slumping back in the seat in disappointment.  “I was kinda counting on finding him tonight and buying it…”. With a shrug, he leaned forward again and picked up another fry.</p><p>She was staring at him from under the brim of her cowboy hat as she took the first bite of her burger but he couldn’t read her mind.  They had eaten in silence for a bit before she said, “You said you’re from the Central Valley.  You ever spend any time in Modesto?”</p><p>“Modesto?  Sure.  I know it well.  Why?”  He suddenly had the feeling she was trying to check him out.</p><p>“I’ve been up that way a few times with some of my biker friends.  I like it up there.”</p><p>“Modesto’s a biker town,” he chuckled.</p><p>“You ever been to Minnie’s?” she asked with feigned casualness.</p><p>“The Tiki bar?  Of course.  You haven’t been to Modesto if you haven’t been to Minnie’s.”</p><p>“That’s true,” she laughed, stabbing a couple of fries with her fork and dipping them in the ketchup.</p><p>Steve laughed.  He was relieved that he and Mike had decided that his doppelganger would be from the Modesto area; it was a natural fit for him.</p><p>They talked longer into the night.  The crowd eventually dispersed and it was getting close to closing.  She had gotten up to go the washroom and he paid their bill while she was gone.  He was just putting his wallet back in his pocket when she reappeared at his elbow.  She put a piece of paper on the table in front of him.  With a curious frown, he picked it up and unfolded it; there was an address scribbled on it.  He looked at her.</p><p>“I have a small apartment and a roommate…. But if you drop by sometime early tomorrow morning, I’ll let you take me for a spin in that ‘sweet ride’ of yours… and I’ll let you have the gun…”</p>
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<a name="section0049"><h2>49. Chapter 49</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He was sitting in the armchair, his head back, eyes closed and mouth slightly open, snoring softly.  The only light in the very dark room was from the lamp on the endtable beside the chair; the phone was on his right knee, his hand on the receiver.  Jeannie had gone to bed long ago and the house was as quiet as a church, the only sound a low hum when the fridge turned itself on and off.</p><p>The phone rang.</p><p>He jumped, his right hand tightening on the receiver, the rest of the phone slipping off his knee and crashing to the floor, the bell inside dinging when it hit the carpet.</p><p>On the other end of the line, Steve held the receiver away from his ear, frowning in alarm and trying not to chuckle as he could picture his partner scrambling to answer.  Finally he heard the breathless, “Hello?”</p><p>“You fell asleep, didn’t you?”</p><p>“What time is it?” came the raspy reply.</p><p>“Ah, 2:35.”  There was a pause.  “You told me to call you, remember?”</p><p>“Yeah, I remember.”  Mike cleared his throat and coughed, trying to actually remember.  Then it dawned on him why he had asked his partner to call.  “So what happened?”  There was a sudden excitement in his still groggy voice.</p><p>“So, ah, are you ready for this?” Steve began enigmatically then quickly decided not to prolong the suspense.  “Well, I met Hayes’s girlfriend, spent the evening in her company and, ah… Mike, she’s giving me the gun tomorrow morning…”. There was a silence on the other end of the line, and he could just picture the expression on the older man’s face.</p><p>“What…?”</p><p>“Yeah.  It worked… our little story?  It worked.”  The relief and elation at being able to share the stunning news were obvious in his voice.  “She has Hayes’s gun and she’s going to sell it to me tomorrow morning.”</p><p>“Holy hell…”</p><p>“Yeah, I, ah, I couldn’t believe it either… but she bought my story… at least I think she did.”</p><p>“Do you think she made you?”</p><p>“No… no, I’m pretty sure she didn’t.  As far as she’s concerned, she’s selling it to Cal Newman.”</p><p>“Good… good…”  It was imperative she didn’t know she was turning it over to a cop, in case she decided, through guilt or some other obligation, to let Hayes know what was going on.</p><p>“Listen, ah, I’m gonna grab a room in a motel here in town instead of going home for the night.  She said to come by her place in the morning so I’ll pick up some breakfast and drop in around 8.  If I can get outa there without having to pay too steep a price…” he paused to let the implications of his words sink in, “I should be back at Bryant Street around noon… hopefully with the gun.”</p><p>“You think there’s any reason she’d set you up… or welch on you?”</p><p>“Naw, I don’t think so.  She seemed pretty sincere, but you never know…”</p><p>“Yeah.  Well, you be careful, okay?  Keep your eyes open and your wits about you, you hear me?”</p><p>“Yes, Dad,” Steve laughed and after a long silent moment, he heard Mike’s gentle chuckle on the other end of the line.</p><p>“All right, smart ass, good work… and I’ll see you tomorrow.”</p><p>“Goodnight, Mike.”  Steve hung up the payphone receiver and, with a warm smile, started towards the Porsche.</p><p>Mike slowly placed the receiver on the cradle, now back on his lap, and sat perfectly still for a long time.  He could hear the blood pounding in his ears.  This was what they had been waiting for, the proof they would need to take their case to the D.A. and exonerate Jane Goodman.</p><p>It was almost a half hour later before he climbed the stairs to his bedroom, and it would be hours before he fell into an exhausted, and very short, sleep.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>With two coffees and a bag of donuts on the floor in the passenger well, Steve glanced at the piece of paper on the seat beside him then looked for the number.  It turned out to be a three-storey steel blue apartment building with white trim and he pulled the Porsche into a empty space just down the block.</p><p>Looks were deceiving.  Though the building seemed well-kept from the outside, the interior was a different story.  The lock on the door to the small lobby was broken and there were very few names opposite the buttons on the buzzer plate.  Whatever name that had been written beside 2A had been crossed out with a black magic marker.  </p><p>With the two cups of coffee and bag of donuts in hand, Steve took the stairs to the second floor and found 2A opposite the stairwell.  He knocked with his right foot.  After a few seconds, the door opened tentatively and a dark blue eye peered at him without blinking.  The door swung open and Rachel, hugging a thick pink bathrobe tightly around her, one hand holding it closed at the neck, moved back with a broad grin.  </p><p>He stepped into the apartment with a wide smile, holding the cardboard cups and paper bag out in front of himself.  “I come bearing gifts,” he chuckled warmly and she blinked at him several times, shaking her head in pleased surprised.</p><p>“I didn’t think you’d actually come,” she mumbled half to herself and his heart sunk.</p><p>Maintaining his dazzling smile, he stepped further into the living room, looking for a flat surface to put the food on, and glanced in her direction as she shut the door.  “You said you’d give me the gun this morning, remember?” he prompted gently, knowing he had to throw all his cards on the table if he was going to find out if she had been lying to him or not.</p><p>She looked at him with a mixture of coy and cunning, he thought, then she moved slowly towards him, loosening the hold on the neck of her bathrobe.  “You brought breakfast,” she sighed, and he got the feeling that Gene Hayes had never done that for her.</p><p>“I did,” he said, turning from the high counter that separated the small kitchen from the equally small living room and holding out one of the coffees.  </p><p>She reached for it with the hand that was holding the neck together and the robe fell open slightly, revealing more than a little cleavage.  Not wanting to disappoint her, or betray his ‘Cal Newman’ persona, he had a good look as he took the lid off his own coffee.  She clocked the approving stare and smiled.</p><p>He glanced around the room.  “Your, ah, your… roommate at home?”</p><p>She shook her head gently.  “She’s gone to work already.  She’s a real… go-getter, I think they call it.”  </p><p>Steve chuckled.</p><p>“So… did you bring the Porsche?”</p><p>“I did,” he smiled as he took a sip of the still steaming coffee.</p><p>She pried the lid off her own cup.  “So, ah, before we get down to… business, how about we go for that ride you promised me last night?”  She was looking at him from under a lowered brow, biting her bottom lip seductively.</p><p>He smiled then eventually nodded.  “Sure, why not?”</p><p># # # # #</p><p>By the time they finished their coffee and donuts, and she had gotten changed into something comfortable yet sexy, it was after 10.  Steve had the sinking feeling he wouldn’t be getting back into The City around noon and, unless he was very lucky and she gave him a window of opportunity to make a phone call, he would have no way of letting Mike know.  And he knew without doubt that his partner would start to worry.</p><p>“So, where do you want to go?” he asked from behind his dark glasses as he lowered the retractable roof, letting the bright sunshine and fresh air wash over them.  </p><p>She had tied a kerchief over her red hair and put on a pair of large, Monroe-style dark glasses.  She looked at him and giggled.  “Let’s see what this beauty can do, why don’t we?  How about we head down to Monterey?  We can have lunch on Cannery Row.”</p><p>He grinned, successfully hiding his growing angst.  This had the potential to become an all-day undertaking.  “Sounds wonderful, why not?”  As she giggled in delight, he shifted into first and pulled the low-slung sports car smoothly away from the curb.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>The day turned out to be a lot more pleasant than he had been expecting.  They got to Monterey just before noon and walked Cannery Row then along the beach before finding a small local seafood diner where they shared a Cioppino and an order of Sicilian calamari.</p><p>Steve found himself strangely drawn to the slightly older woman with the incredibly bad taste in men.  And he was more than mildly surprised that, though she was openly flirtatious, there was no sexual tension between them.  She was almost treating him like a little brother.  That both enchanted and annoyed him; he was used to woman figuratively and literally throwing themselves at him.</p><p>They were walking leisurely back towards the car, listening to the sounds of the ocean and the cries of the seagulls.  It was a comfortingly calming atmosphere.  Impulsively, she slipped her arm through his but didn’t pull him close, leaving him his space.  </p><p>“So,” she started softly, looking at the sidewalk, “when are you going on your… cross-country odyssey?”  There was a wistfulness in her voice that was at once fascinated and heartbroken.</p><p>He looked down at her.  “As soon as I can,” he lied, knowing he couldn’t afford, in any sense of the word, to get involved with this woman.</p><p>She tightened her grip on his arm slightly.  “Well then, we better get you back to my place, shouldn’t we?”</p><p># # # # #</p><p>The return trip to San Jose was made mostly in silence.  Steve knew she was deep in thought, as if mulling over something very important.  He was a little worried, not knowing what was going through her mind, hoping beyond hope that she was wasn’t contemplating asking him if she could go with him on his escape from ‘Cal Newman’s’ world.</p><p>He parked the Porsche, raised the roof and had just turned off the engine when she turned to him suddenly.  “There’s something I have to tell you about the gun,” she said in a rush and he froze.</p><p>“What?” he asked, trying to keep any emotion out of that one word.  </p><p>She looked away, frowning slightly and licking her lips nervously.</p><p>“You have it, don’t you?” he asked, staring at her without blinking, praying that everything he and Mike had pinned their hopes on wasn’t just going up in smoke before his eyes.</p><p>She closed her eyes and nodded quickly.  “I have it, I have it,” she almost snapped then she quickly reached for the door handle and scrambled from the car.</p><p>Alarmed, he got out as quickly as he could and caught up to her at the apartment building door.  He followed as she almost ran up the stairs, fishing for the keys in her purse and opening the door.  </p><p>“Wait here,” she half-yelled at him as she charged towards the bedroom and he hovered near the open door, not sure what was going on but disturbed by the direction this was taking all of a sudden.</p><p>Several seconds later she emerged from the bedroom with a large flat shoebox in both hands.  She crossed to him with her head down, not meeting his stare, and put the box in his outstretched hands.  It was heavy.</p><p>She stood in front of him silently, her head staying down, and he waited, knowing there was something she wanted to tell him but not sure if she should.</p><p>The silence lengthened and somehow he realized he had to prompt the situation.  He shifted the box onto one hand and slowly opened the hinged lid.  Inside there was a large silver revolver with a long barrel.  He caught his breath, swallowing heavily; he could feel his heart pounding in his chest.   “Ah, how much do I owe you?”</p><p>She slowly raised her head and met his eyes.  “Nothing,” she said softly.</p><p>He cocked his head and frowned slightly.  “Are you sure?”</p><p>She nodded slowly.  “Gene told me that he used it to kill some people in San Francisco,” she said quietly, tears starting to roll silently down her cheeks.  “I just want it out of my life…”</p>
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<a name="section0050"><h2>50. Chapter 50</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>His hand was shaking so hard he was having trouble putting the coins in the slot.  He punched the buttons and waited.  The line was answered in the middle of the first ring.  “Homicide, Stone.”</p><p>“I’ve got it, Mike…”</p><p>There was a brief silence on the other end.  “Okay… ah, good… good.  You, ah, you on your way home?”</p><p>“Ah, yeah.  It, ah, it took a little longer than I thought it would…”</p><p>There was a soft, understanding chuckle.  “Yeah, that’s for sure…. I’ve been waiting all day to hear from you…”  There was concern but no anger in the tone.</p><p>“Yeah, I know, sorry about that… Listen, ah, I’m just leaving San Jose now.  I should be there in about an hour and a half.“</p><p>“I’ll be here.  Drive safely.”</p><p>“Yeah, I will.”  He was just about to hang up when he called out, “Hey, Mike?”</p><p>“Yeah?” came the comfortingly familiar voice over the line.</p><p>He took a deep breath.  “She, ah, she said Hayes wanted her to hide it for him… he told her he used it to kill some people in San Francisco…”</p><p>There was a long silence.  He could hear his partner exhale loudly then say softly with a catch in his voice, “You did good, buddy boy… you did real good…”</p><p>Still shaking, the younger man hung up then walked slowly back to his car.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>The bullpen was almost empty when Steve stepped through the door just after 6 with the box in his hands.  He walked straight into the inner office without stopping, watched every step of the way by his mentor who was following his every move.  He put the box on the desk and closed the door.</p><p>Mike stared at the box silently for several very long beats then pulled it closer and raised the lid.  He closed his eyes and exhaled slowly.</p><p>“I didn’t touch it,” Steve said softly.  “Hopefully Hayes’s prints are all over it, and possibly hers.  I didn’t want to blow my cover so I didn’t ask her for her prints… but I could go back and get them if we need them…”</p><p>Mike nodded.  “I, ah, I asked for one of the ballistics techs to stay.  I’ve already sent Hayes print card down.”  He looked up his partner and smiled warmly.  “You better get yourself home, you’ve had a busy twenty-four hours.”</p><p>“That’s okay, I’ll log this in and then take it down -“</p><p>“No no, I’ve got it,” Mike said firmly but with a smile, and after a beat the younger man smiled back understandingly.</p><p>“Okay,” he said softly then started towards the door.</p><p>“Steve…”</p><p>He turned back.</p><p>“I know it’s taken a long time and a lot of off-the-radar work… and we’re not quite there yet… but it’s all been worth it…  don’t you think?”</p><p>The younger man’s sad smile built slowly.  “Every second…”</p><p>Mike’s eyes brightened and he looked down quickly, clearing his throat and nodding.  “I’ll, ah, I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said quietly, keeping his head down as he closed the lid on the box.</p><p>“Yeah… don’t stay too late, okay?” Steve ordered gently as he opened the door.</p><p>“I won’t.”</p><p>Steve looked back when he got to the anteroom door; Mike was sitting perfectly still, staring at the box.</p><p># # # # # </p><p>His hat askew and his tie loosened, Mike walked into the ballistics room in the forensic department with the flat shoebox in both hands.  The large room was empty.  He put the box on a counter and was just about to leave to look for one of the technicians when the door opened and the head of forensics walked in.</p><p>“Hey, Charlie,” Mike greeted him with a weary smile.  “Thanks for letting one of your guys stay late to take care of this for me.”</p><p>The scientist flashed a broad smile.  “You’re welcome, Mike,” he chuckled as he crossed to the counter and opened the box.</p><p>The detective frowned.  “You’re gonna do this?” he asked, pointing at the shoe box.</p><p>Charlie looked at him with raised eyebrows.  “What?  You have a problem with that?”</p><p>“Uh, no, of course not,” Mike back-pedalled quickly with a flustered laugh.  “I just never expected the department head to do the dirty work, so to speak.”</p><p>The forensic specialist glanced over his shoulder with a warm but enigmatic smile.  He knew how much this case meant to the senior detective.  “Is this the piece you think was used to kill that little boy and his parents a couple of months ago?”</p><p>Mike’s smile disappeared.  “Yeah…”</p><p>“Then I want to be the guy that’s helps you prove it.”  He stared without expression into the detective’s weary eyes.  After a long beat, Mike nodded slowly then dropped his head and cleared his throat self-consciously.</p><p>“You look beat,” Charlie continued, concerned.  “Why don’t you have a seat while I go to work on this?”  He nodded at the silver revolver lying in the box.  “Are you going to wait?”</p><p>“If it’s all right?” Mike asked, pulling a tall stool closer and climbing onto it.</p><p>“Of course it is.”  Charlie opened a nearby drawer, took out a pair of latex gloves and put them on.  “Just so you know, I’m gonna do the ballistics test before I swab it for prints.”  He glanced at the detective with a brief grin.  “I figure you want to know if it’s the right weapon sooner than later, right?”</p><p>“Ah, yeah, I do,” Mike snorted, surprised but pleased.</p><p> “I already have the slug from the Goodman murder in the comparison microscope,” he nodded towards the apparatus on a desk near the far wall, then carefully picked the Colt up out of the box.  He opened the cylinder; there were two bullets in the chamber.  With a confirming nod at Mike and closing the cylinder, he crossed to the water recovery tank.  He put the gun carefully on a nearby counter and slipped on a pair of earphones that were hanging nearby.  Picking the gun up, he glanced in Mike’s direction and nodded.  The detective stuck his fingers in his ears as Charlie put the revolver into the port and fired.  Putting the gun back into the box, he retrieved the spent slug from the tank of water and brought it to the microscope.  </p><p>Trying to control his mounting anxiety, Mike rested his elbows on his thighs and dropped his head into his hands.  Everything was riding on this.  He heard Charlie softly clear his throat and he looked up.</p><p>“It’s a match.”</p><p>Mike didn’t move for a long second, then he straightened up and leaned back slightly, looking away.  He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.  When he finally looked back, Charlie was staring at him with a sympathetic smile.  “Thank you.”</p><p>His smile widening, Charlie got to his feet.  “You’re very welcome.  Especially if it’ll put a child-killer behind bars, right?”</p><p>Mike nodded soberly.  “Right…”</p><p>“Listen, ah, I’m gonna get to work on those prints but it’s gonna take awhile,” he said, nodding at the revolver in the box. “You don’t have to -“</p><p>“I’d like to stay, if you don’t mind.  See if we can put one more nail in Walter Northcott’s coffin…”</p><p>“Who’s he?” Charlie asked as he folded the lid closed on the box and picked it up.</p><p>Mike slid off the stool and started to follow the forensic scientist as he headed into another room in the department.  “He’s the brother of the wife.”</p><p>“And you think he’s responsible for the three murders… his sister and his nephew?”</p><p>“Well, Steve and I don’t think he actually did it himself, but it was his plan and he arranged it.  We think Hayes pulled the trigger.  And that gun is going to go a long way in proving that for us.”</p><p>“Then anything I can do to help.”  Charlie put the box on a counter and opened it again.  Mike found a desk chair and sat, stifling a yawn.  He noticed Eugene Hayes’s print card already on the counter.</p><p>Charlie began the long and pain-staking process of retrieving whatever prints, complete or partials, on the Colt revolver that he could find.  After a couple of minutes of setting up everything he would need, he glanced in Mike’s direction and ventured quietly, “I, uh, I heard through the grapevine that you and Steve were working under the radar on this one…”</p><p>Mike snorted quietly.  “Ah, yeah, I guess you could say that.  There definitely have been some, ah… some obstacles we’ve had to overcome.”</p><p>“Yeah, I heard about the both of you being on the DL for while.  You were shot in the shoulder, right?”</p><p>Mike laughed dryly.  “Yeah… through an apartment door, can you believe it?  I was just going to ask some old lady about a complaint about a cop killing her cat…”  He shrugged with a shake of his head.  “I’m okay now.”</p><p>“Well, that’s good.  What happened to your partner?”</p><p>“Had a run-in with a suspect with martial arts training and a few pounds on him - Steve came out on the wrong end of the stick.  Broken jaw and a couple of broken ribs.”</p><p>“Oooo,” Charlie moaned in empathy.  “That sounds painful.”</p><p>“It was.  But he’s back now too, although both of us are sort of still on desk duty.”</p><p>“You’re not still exiled to IA, are you?”</p><p>“No… no, I got a reprieve, I’m back in Homicide.”</p><p>“I thought you were… that’s good.”  Charlie paused to concentrate on what he was doing for a minute.  </p><p>When he seemed to relax and move on, Mike ventured, “Listen, ah, I’m just curious…. How are you getting along with O’Donnell?”  He saw the scientist freeze for a split second before he smiled.</p><p>“Well, we don’t have much overlap but we’re getting along fine,” he said noncommittally then hesitated, glancing quickly in the cop’s direction.  “Ah, scuttlebutt has it you and, ah, well, some others have had a, oh, a bit of a contretemps with him,” he said quietly, pronouncing the French word perfectly.  </p><p>“If that means we butted heads then, yeah, we butted heads,” Mike responded with a dry chuckle.  He frowned.  “Who else has had a problem with him?”</p><p>Charlie smiled to himself.  “Well, other than Rudy Olsen and Brock Worthing from Missing Persons, I’m not really sure.”</p><p>“Yeah, I heard something about Rudy but I never got any details.  Any light you can shed?”</p><p>The scientist shook his head slowly, still removing a fingerprint from the grip of the gun and transferring it to a print card.  “Only thing I know was it had something to do with you.”</p><p>“Me?”</p><p>“Yeah.  It was the day you got transferred.  It was hard to miss, everyone could hear him yelling at McDonnell all the way down the hall.  Kinda made everybody uncomfortable.”</p><p>Mike snorted to himself, his focus turning inward.  He’d had no idea that Olsen had defended him to the substitute M.E.  “Well, Rudy stands up for his men, that’s for sure.”</p><p>Conversation lagged as Charlie’s full attention returned to the task at hand.  After several silent minutes, he glanced at the desk chair and froze briefly, smiling to himself.  Mike’s head had fallen forward, his chin on his chest and his eyes closed.  The scientist went back to work.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>It was just after midnight when Mike crossed de Haro and started slowly up the concrete steps to his front door.  They seemed higher and steeper again tonight, or maybe he was just too drained.  </p><p>There was a faint muted glow shining through the living room curtain but the rest of the house was dark.  He knew Jeannie had gone to bed.</p><p>He finally made it to the top step and, trying not to sway from exhaustion, reached slowly into his pants pocket for his house key.  He was about to slip it into the lock when he stopped.  He stood perfectly still for a few very long seconds then he turned and slowly sat on the top step.</p><p>Within seconds it engulfed him, the wave of emotion a mixture of grief and triumph, anger and relief.  He braced his elbows against his knees and dropped his head into his hands.  And, very quietly, he cried.</p>
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<a name="section0051"><h2>51. Chapter 51</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The car slipped quietly up the street and swung into an empty space on the steep hill, the driver angling the front tires to the curb before turning off the engine and the lights and getting out.  He climbed the sidewalk towards the house he wanted then started up the concrete steps as quietly as he could manage.  He was about halfway to the top when he saw the head come up and the blue eyes widen in surprise when they caught sight of his approaching figure.</p><p>With a soft, concerned smile, Steve paused momentarily in front of his partner sitting on the top step then, without a word, turned and sat beside him.  Mike stared at him, frowning in surprise and curiosity.  Steve’s affectionate smile got a little wider.  “When you didn’t call, I phoned the lab… Charlie told me you just left.”  He paused slightly.  “He told me about the match.  I had a feeling you’d be here…”</p><p>Nodding slowly, Mike looked back down at his hands.  Silence filled the air around them.  Steve looked up and down the quiet street, the only sounds the occasional distant honk of a car horn and the muted roar of a bus pulling away from a nearby stop.  Way off in the distance the low mournful wail of a fog horn cut through the cool dark night.</p><p>Steve looked down, his brow furrowing.  “What’ve you got there?” he gestured towards something in his partner’s hand.</p><p>With an almost embarrassed snort, Mike turned his hand towards the younger man; it was the small colour photo of Robbie Goodman.  Steve looked from the picture to the blue eyes staring at him self-consciously.  “You’ve been carrying that the whole time?”</p><p>Mike nodded.  </p><p>With an affectionate snort, Steve patted his partner’s back.  They sat quietly for a short while, listening to comfortable regularity of the fog horn, before he asked, “So, ah, how do you want to tackle this?”  </p><p>Mike chuckled dryly.  “Good question. I’ve been thinking about that…  I think the next thing we have to do is talk to Eugene Hayes…. We can tie him to the murders now, without a shadow of a doubt, but I want to hear it from his own mouth.  I want to hear him tell us that he did it… and how he did it… and who told him to do it.”  He dropped his head and snorted angrily.  “And then after we snap the cuffs on Turnbull and Northcott, I want to charge into O’Donnell’s office and shove Hayes statement in his face.”</p><p>Steve nodded in agreement, then he dropped his head.  A second later he smiled slightly with a soft chuckle.  Mike looked at him, frowning in confusion.  “I, ah…I think I’ll have to keep you on a short leash for that one…”</p><p>Mike’s frown deepened, then suddenly his scowl softened and he looked down.  He began to shake then, very quietly, he started to laugh.</p><p>Grinning, Steve leaned into him with a gentle shove and they shared the moment, laughing softly.  Mike raised a hand and rubbed it over his eyes then exhaled loudly.  </p><p>“Listen, ah,” Steve started gently, “I think we should give ourselves some time off tomorrow.”  Mike’s head snapped up and he continued quickly before he could be interrupted.  “I’m not saying the whole day, just… well, look, why don’t I crash here with you tonight, you can sleep in as much as you can,” he chuckled, “we can let Jeannie cook us a nice big breakfast tomorrow morning… and then we go in when we feel we’re ready.”  Mike was staring at him expressionlessly.  “What do you think?”</p><p>The older man blinked a couple of times.  “You’re going to sleep in your clothes?”</p><p>Steve smiled mischievously.  “I have an overnight bag with a change of clothes and some toiletries in my back seat.”</p><p>His lips curling and his eyebrows rising, Mike shook his head slowly.  “Of course you do.”</p><p>Chuckling, Steve slapped his partner on the back.  “Come on,” he encouraged, standing.  He extended a hand and Mike, with an appreciative smile, took it and rose slowly to his feet.  </p><p># # # # #</p><p>He woke to the smell of coffee and cinnamon, and the muted sounds of someone bustling about in the kitchen.  He pulled the sheet off his face and, yawning, looked around the room lit by the sunshine peaking around the curtains and the overhead light in the kitchen.  Running a hand over the stubble on his chin, he got slowly to his feet and, in his pajama bottoms and t-shirt, stumbled to the kitchen entrance.</p><p>Jeannie was humming softly to herself as, her back to the doorway, she opened the oven door and reached in with mitt-covered hands to remove a tray of cinnamon buns.</p><p>“Did you make those from scratch?” he asked and she jumped slightly, managing to set the tray on the counter without dropping it before she turned to him with the patented Stone glare.  </p><p>“You should be wearing a bell,” she growled with a smile.  “Good morning.”  She turned back to the counter, taking off the mitts and reaching for a mug.  </p><p>“Good morning.  What time is it?” he asked, his voice still a little raspy, as he moved deeper into the room.  “Mike’s not up yet?”</p><p>She picked up the percolator and poured the steaming fresh coffee into the mug.  “It’s quarter to nine, and no, he’s not.”  She held the cup out and, blinking rapidly several times, he took it with both hands.</p><p>“Thank you.”</p><p>“You’re welcome.”  She returned to stove.  “So, you have a choice, cinnamon buns or French toast?”</p><p>“French toast?  You’re kidding, right?”</p><p>She glanced over her shoulder and smiled.  “Not at all.  Your choice.”</p><p>“Ah, French toast then, please.”  He took a sip of coffee then put the cup on the counter.  “I’m just gonna go ‘freshen up’,” he chuckled and started to leave the room.</p><p>“Steve…?”  </p><p>He stopped and looked back, frowning slightly.</p><p>“What happened yesterday?” she asked softly.  “I mean, I talked to Mike in the afternoon and he said he was waiting for you to get back from San Jose but he wouldn’t tell me why.”  She hesitated slightly.  “Did it have something to do with the Goodman case?”</p><p>After a beat, Steve nodded, not sure how much he should tell her, if anything.</p><p>“Was it something good?  I mean, something that can help you prove that that woman didn’t do it?”</p><p>Smiling slightly, he nodded again.</p><p>With a smile, she bit her lip and glanced down.  “You know how I knew?” she asked, looking up at him and smiling wistfully.  “‘Cause Mike’s still sleeping.  He hasn’t been able to sleep more than a couple of hours a night since I came home.”</p><p># # # # #</p><p>Steve looked up as his partner walked into the bullpen and started for his office.  “Yes, I’m still here,” he said into the phone as Mike glanced at him with a slight smile and raised eyebrows as he made his way across the room.  “Yes…”  He scribbled in the notebook furiously.   “All right, that’s perfect…  Yes… yes, thank you very much.  We’ll see you tomorrow morning.  Thank you again…. Right. Goodbye.”  He slammed the receiver down, picking up the notebook as he got to his feet and crossing quickly to the inner office door.</p><p>Mike, putting his gun in the top drawer, looked up expectantly.  “What have you got?”</p><p>“What did Rudy say?” Steve asked simultaneously.  They both froze briefly, Steve chuckling and Mike shooting him a sarcastic, heavy-lidded glare.  “Ah, you first,” Steve chortled, “age before beauty, you know…”</p><p>“I prefer ‘rank has its privileges’.”</p><p>“Yeah, that too,” the younger man smirked as he stepped deeper into the room and dropped onto the guest chair.</p><p>Chuckling and shaking his head, Mike settled into the swivel chair.  He brought his hands up and rubbed his fingers into his eyes then shook his head quickly as if trying to clear it.  He blinked exaggeratedly a couple of times, looking at his partner with a self-conscious chuckle.  “I don’t know about you but whenever I sleep in I always feel like I’m several hours behind for the rest of the day.”</p><p>With a chuckle and a grin, Steve leaned back and crossed his legs.  He raised his eyebrows.  “I never have that problem.”</p><p>“Wait till you get older.”  He nodded at the notebook in the younger man’s hand.  “So what’ve you got?”</p><p>“Well, I just got off the phone with the Chief of Police down in San Jose -“</p><p>“You went right to the top.”  Mike looked impressed.</p><p>Steve shrugged.  “Yeah, well, you say you’re from SFPD Homicide and they sit up and take notice.”</p><p>“Yeah, I’ve noticed that.”</p><p>“Anyway,” Steve continued with a snort and a smile, knowing things were going to get serious very quickly, “we’ve got an appointment to meet with Eugene Hayes there tomorrow morning at 10 a.m.”</p><p>Mike sobered.  “Is his lawyer going to be there?”</p><p>Steve nodded.  “He has a court-appointed lawyer and, yeah, he’s gonna be there.  The Chief also asked if one of his homicide guys could sit in with us and I said yes.  Is that okay?”</p><p>The older man nodded grimly.  “Yeah, of course.”</p><p>Steve closed the notebook.  “So, ah, what did Rudy say?”</p><p>Mike snorted dryly.  “What could he say?  We have pretty overwhelming evidence that the gun wasn’t removed from the Goodman house by ‘person or persons unknown’ now, don’t we?  We’ve got his blessing to go as far as we can on this, but he still wants us to keep it under the radar until we’ve got everything nailed.  He doesn’t want O’Donnell to get even a whiff of what we’re doing.”</p><p>“Charlie’s not going to -?”</p><p>“Charlie’s on our side.”  Mike smiled with a knowing nod.</p><p>Steve tossed the notebook on the desk.  “I just hope the gods are too.”</p><p># # # # #</p><p>They were heading down the 101 towards San Jose.  Traffic was light and they were making good time.  Mike’s briefcase was on the seat between them; inside it was everything they believed they needed to convince Eugene Hayes that he’d be better off talking to them than taking his chances in front of a jury.</p><p>It had been a mostly quiet trip, both of them lost in their own thoughts.  It was Mike who broke the silence.  “You know, I was thinking about what you said last night, about Hayes having a court-appointed lawyer.  Don’t you find that strange?” he asked rhetorically, not expecting an answer.  “I mean, I know Turnbull’s ex-wife said he’s an ‘associate’ of her husband’s but would he really kill three people just for a friend?  That would be a first, don’t you think?”</p><p>“So what are you thinking?” Steve asked from the behind the dark glasses as he changed lanes, passing a slower car.</p><p>“I don’t know,” the older man confessed, shrugging.  “I mean, a court-appointed lawyer says he doesn’t have enough money to afford one of his own, but if he got paid for the hit…?”</p><p>“Well, I guess we’re just going to have to ask him, right?”</p><p>“Yeah, I guess…”</p><p>The car fell silent again.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>“Gentlemen, I’m Chief Russell.”  The thickset man with the grey buzzcut was about Mike’s age but a head shorter.  He shook hands with both detectives, Mike making the introductions.  “Follow me,” he gestured down the corridor to their right, and Mike fell into step beside him.</p><p>“Hayes and his lawyer are in one of our interview rooms with one of my Homicide sergeants, Dave Campbell.  He has no idea what this is all about, and Hayes wasn’t told why he was brought over here this morning either, so you’re starting with a clean slate.”</p><p>The San Jose Police Department was in a much smaller building than its San Francisco counterpart and it didn’t take long to arrive at their destination.</p><p>Russell looked at Mike.  “Good luck, Lieutenant,” he said quietly, nodding at them both as he opened the door and motioned them inside.</p><p>It was a small grey-walled room with a two-way mirror, a fairly large metal table and four metal chairs, one on the far side, three nearer the door.  Two of the chair were occupied.  In the furthest chair on the near side was a dark-haired man in his early forties wearing a sharp brown tweed jacket and a neutral expression.</p><p>Across the table, in a denim work shirt, his right hand cuffed to the back of the chair, sat Eugene Hayes.  He stared up at the two new arrivals through dark beady eyes as the older one stepped deeper into the room and put a briefcase on the table.  </p><p>As they had discussed on the way down, Steve hovered near the door as Mike stared down at the prisoner without blinking, his face expressionless for several long, increasingly uncomfortable seconds.  Finally he said coldly, “Lieutenant Stone.”  He nodded slightly in his partner’s direction.  “Inspector Keller.  We’re with San Francisco Homicide.”</p><p>Eugene Hayes swallowed heavily.</p>
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<a name="section0052"><h2>52. Chapter 52</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Mike frowned, looking at Campbell.  “Where’s his lawyer?”</p><p>The San Jose sergeant’s quick smile was crocodilian.  “He, ah, he had to make a trip to the bathroom… and to get his own chair.”  He nodded expressionlessly at the other side of the table.  “It seems we miscounted…”  His expression didn’t change as he as he waited for the San Francisco lieutenant to respond.</p><p>Mike nodded sombrely.  “I see.”</p><p>The door opened quickly, hitting Steve in the back, and he stepped aside, turning with a scowl.  A metal armchair was being manipulated through the door.  He looked beyond the chair to see Chief Russell leaning forward, stretching out to push the door open to help accommodate the moving furniture.  Their eyes met briefly, the chief flashing a quick, circumspect but telling smile.  The inspector nodded back as the chair finally made its way through the door, followed by the small, bespectacled public defender struggling to keep it in the air.</p><p>As the door closed behind him, the young lawyer looked overtop of the chair then around the room as if trying to figure out where to unload his burden.  Campbell looked laconically across the table at Hayes.  “Move over,” he said flatly.</p><p>The prisoner looked at him with a confused frown.  </p><p>“I said move over!” Campbell raised his voice.  </p><p>Hayes reluctantly slid his chair about a foot to the side.</p><p>With an obvious and impatient sigh, Mike lowered himself into a chair on the near side of the table, leaning back and folding his arms.  Leaving his hat on, which Steve insisted gave him an air of intimidation, he glared across the table at Hayes while the PD struggled to put the chair down and retrieve his briefcase from the floor at the far end of the table.  Mike resisted smiling to himself but made a mental note to thank Chief Russell for the unexpected, but much appreciated, tipping of the scales.</p><p>Finally settled, the young court-appointed lawyer looked nervously from Campbell to Mike and back again.  “I hope you didn’t speak to my client while I was out of the room,” he began, trying to control the shake in his voice and assert his tenuous authority.</p><p>Mike didn’t move.  Campbell, with a quick glance in the lieutenant’s direction, said flatly, “They introduced themselves.  That’s all.”</p><p>“Oh.  Uh, okay.  I’m, ah, my name’s Barry Zwicker, and I’m the attorney for Mr. Hayes.”</p><p>Keeping his arms folded and his eyes on the baby-faced PD, Mike nodded once.  “Lieutenant Stone.”  He nodded towards Steve, who was once more standing near the door.  “Inspector Keller.”  He paused.  “San Francisco Homicide.”</p><p>Zwicker’s eyebrows went up.  “Homicide?”  He sat back, looking at Hayes then Campbell.  “I thought this was about the fight Mr. Hayes had the Bottom of the Barrel the other night.”</p><p>“Is that what you were told specifically?” Campbell asked.</p><p>“Ah, well, ah, no… but I just assumed when I read Mr. Hayes’ file -“</p><p>“You know what they say about assuming, right, Mr. Zwicker?”  Campbell looked at Mike and nodded. “Lieutenant…”</p><p>“Thank you, Sergeant,” Mike smiled perfunctorily, uncrossing his arms and sitting forward.  Slowly and deliberately, he reached for the briefcase and pulled it closer, unsnapping the locks.  He opened it slightly and took out a small colour photograph then reached across the table and put it down in front of Hayes.  Zwicker leaned over to take a look.  “Do you recognize the man in that photo with you?”</p><p>Hayes looked down at the picture then back up, his blank expression unchanging.  He shook his head.  “Nope, sorry.”</p><p>“You’re sharing a drink with him,” Mike stated flatly.</p><p>“I have drinks with a lot of people.  Some of them take pictures.  I have no idea who that is.”</p><p>The lieutenant smiled dryly.  “Celebrity, hunh?”</p><p>Hayes smiled smugly and bobbled his head.  “Something like that, I guess.”</p><p>Nodding slightly, Mike reached into the briefcase again.  This time he tossed three more photos onto the table.  “Seems this guy must really be infatuated with you, doesn’t it?  I mean, to take this many photos with you…?  These are the only ones we could find but who knows how many more are out there…”  He shrugged.</p><p>Hayes looked non-plussed.  “Sorry, Lieutenant, I have no idea who he is.”</p><p>“That’s okay,” Mike assured him with a brief, mirthless smile, “we do.  His name is Peter Turnbull.  His wife identified you for us.  You remember her, right?  Eleanor?  She told us all about you… about how she hated being in your company.  She said you made her skin crawl.”</p><p>Hayes was staring into Mike’s eyes; he didn’t move but his jaw muscles tightened.  </p><p>Smiling coldly once more, Mike opened the briefcase slightly again and took out another picture.  This one was a DMV photo.  “I suppose you don’t know who this is either, right?”</p><p>Hayes leaned over the table and stared at the photo then he sat back with a smug smile.  “I don’t know that guy either.”</p><p>“Never met him?”</p><p>“Never met him.”</p><p>Mike nodded slowly.  “Okay… Where were on the night of June 22nd of this year?”</p><p>Hayes snorted derogatorily.  “I have no idea.  Do you?”  The second those words were out of his mouth, everyone in the room knew it was a mistake.</p><p>Mike’s smile got even wider.  “As a matter of fact, I do.  I was at a very nice house on 25th Street in San Francisco… a house where three people had just been murdered…”</p><p>Hayes didn’t move but Zwicker’s eyes shot wide and his mouth dropped open, his head spinning back and forth between the Homicide lieutenant and his client.  “What?”</p><p>Mike’s eyes slid slowly from the suspect to his lawyer.  “That’s right, Mr. Zwicker.  A man and his wife… and their baby son…. shot to death in their own home.”</p><p>The PD continued to stare at the homicide detective with an open mouth and, though he didn’t physically move, seemed to distance himself from his client.  He closed his mouth and cleared his throat.  “And, ah… and you think my client may have had something to do with that?”</p><p>The corners of Mike’s mouth curled and he leaned forward slightly.  “Oh, we don’t ‘think’, Mr. Zwicker, we know… and we can prove it.”</p><p>“No you can’t,” Hayes spat out, “‘cause I wasn’t there.”</p><p>Steve took a step closer to table and Hayes glanced up at him then sat back slightly.</p><p>“Then prove it,” Hayes snapped, his eyes returning to Mike.</p><p>His smile widening, Mike tilted his head with a facial shrug.  “All right.”  He opened the briefcase and took out some papers and a small plastic bag.  He deliberately laid out the papers on the far side of the table in front of Hayes.  “These are the autopsy reports of the three people killed on that night.  And as you can see,” he pointed to the relevant lines of information, “there were all killed by .22 calibre bullets.”  </p><p>Steve watched with a slight smile; he knew these were photocopies of the reports that Mike had carefully doctored to eliminate O’Donnell’s conclusion that Jane Goodman had died by her own hand.</p><p>His partner held up the small plastic bag.  It was sealed, had writing on the outside and a folded piece of paper on the inside.  “This,” he pointed at a small, misshapen piece of metal at the bottom of the bag, “is what’s left of the bullet that went through the back of 18-month-old Robbie Goodman’s head before lodging in the wall near his crib.”</p><p>Every eye in the room was staring at the envelope.  Mike put it on the table then stood.  He opened the briefcase and left the lid up.  Then, using both hands, he removed another, larger evidence bag and set it in the middle of the table.  All three detectives in the room watched as Hayes froze, his eyes widening.  Zwicker’s panicked eyes snapped back and forth between his client and the gun, as if realizing he was in way over his head here.</p><p>“Do you recognize this, Mr. Hayes?” Mike asked matter-of-factly.  “You should.  It was given to us by a good friend of yours.  Rachel.  You know Rachel, right?”</p><p>Not rising to the bait, Hayes continued to stare at the gun.  “That’s not mine.”</p><p>“Really?” Mike responded facetiously.  “She seemed to think it was.  She gave it to Steve still in the box.  She said you gave it to her to hide, that you killed some people in San Francisco with it.”  He paused, snorting to himself.  “I guess she wasn’t as loyal as you thought she was, was she?”</p><p>He reached into the open briefcase and took out another small plastic evidence bag, identical to the first one.  “This is a .22 calibre bullet too. It’s a test-fire.  It came from the same gun as that one.”  He pointed at the first bag, putting the second one on the table beside it.  Then he took out a ballistics report and set it on the table as well.  “This is the ballistic report that says both bullets came from the same gun…  This one.”</p><p>Hayes’s face had grown dark.  He hadn’t moved but the detectives could tell he was hanging on Mike’s every word.</p><p>Very slowly, the veteran homicide lieutenant reached into the briefcase one last time.  The report he took out this time was obvious to everyone before it even cleared the lid of the case.  Mike was staring at Hayes’s face as he put it down deliberately in front of the expressionless prisoner.  </p><p>“I don’t have to tell you what that is, do I, Mr. Hayes?  You’ve seen a fingerprint report before, I’m sure.  So I don’t have to tell you that the prints they got off this gun… from the grip, from the trigger and from the bullets… are yours… now do I?”</p><p>Very slowly, he closed the lid on the briefcase then sat down again, his penetrating stare never leaving Eugene Hayes’s face.  An uncomfortable silence fell over the room; the three detectives full attention was on the suspect, whose eyes were riveted on the gun, while Zwicker’s wide, stricken eyes bounced back and forth between his client and unbending lieutenant across the table.</p><p>Eventually the public defender cleared his throat lightly.  “Uh, Lieutenant, um, what is it you wish to get from my client today?”  He sounded very young and very inexperienced, and Mike almost felt sorry for him.</p><p>The cold blue eyes turned towards Zwicker and a wry smile curled his lips.  “A confession would be nice.”</p><p>Hayes’s head came up and Zwicker turned to him quickly.  Steve took a step closer to the table.  </p><p>“Ah, well, ah,” the attorney stumbled, “well, um, what would be in it for my client… if he, ah…?”  He shrugged.</p><p>Mike leaned towards the table, ignoring Zwicker, his attention on Hayes.  “We know what you did, Mr. Hayes.  We know Mr. Northcott here,” he put his right forefinger on the DMV photo, “wanted someone to kill his sister and her husband… and their little boy… so he could inherit her estate.”  From the corner of his eye he could see Zwicker swallow heavily and stare wide-eyed at his client.  “And we know you’re an associate of Peter Turnbull, who happens to be Walter Northcott’s best friend.”  He pointed at the gun.  “And we know, because your fingerprints are all over this gun, and that this is the gun that killed the Goodman family, that you were the one to pull the trigger.”</p><p>He leaned forward a little further till it seemed there was no-one in the room except he and Hayes.  “If you tell me what you did, how you did it, and who planned it, then I’ll talk to our district attorney about taking the death penalty off the table.”  He paused to let his offer sink in.  “Do you really want to be the one to take wrap alone?”</p><p>Hayes’s stare slid from the detective to the gun in the plastic bag in the centre of the table.  No one moved.  After several very long seconds, he sat back and met the lieutenant’s eyes again.  “Where do you want me to start?</p>
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<a name="section0053"><h2>53. Chapter 53</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I’ve known Pete Turnbull for years, since we were in our early twenties.  We’re not… ya know, close… but we hang out a lot… and he, ah, he uses me to handle… things…”</p><p>“What kind of things?”</p><p>Hayes’s eyes drifted up from the table where he had been staring at one of the small colour pictures of Turnbull and himself.  “Ya know, the stuff he didn’t want to do himself, the rough stuff…. Anyway, I knew Northcott through him.  Even been to a few a those parties at Northcott’s house.”  He focused on Mike and smiled slightly.  “Ya know, that place over in Marin, the one with the view?”</p><p>The corner of the lieutenant’s lips turned up slightly and he nodded slowly.  “We’ve been there.”</p><p>“Yeah… anyway, I met the Goodmans there a coupla times.  So they, ah, they sorta knew who I was.”</p><p>“Did Northcott set everything up?”</p><p>Hayes shrugged.  “I’m guessing he did but, ah, I never talked to him about it.  I only found out about it when Pete talked to me.  He never mentioned Northcott by name to me so…”  He shrugged again.  “If I could point the finger at him I would, but I can’t.”</p><p>“So why that night?”</p><p>“Something about a party…”</p><p>Mike frowned, casting a quick glance at his partner and catching his eye.  “A what?”</p><p>Hayes took a deep breath.  “A party, some kinda party.  You’ll have to ask Pete,” he said dismissively.</p><p>Mike leaned forward slightly.  “So what happened that night?”</p><p>The prisoner sat back, his eyes bouncing from Mike to Campbell and back again.  “It, ah… it was Pete and me.   We got there about 8:45 I think, not much later.  We parked a few streets away so no one would see the car.  There was something going on a coupla streets over so there were some people out and about but it was getting dark by then and nobody was paying much attention to a coupla guys walking down the street.”</p><p>“And the Goodmans let you in?”</p><p>Hayes nodded.  “Yeah.  It was the wife.  She knew Pete, of course, and let us in without battin’ an eye.”</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>“Whata ya mean why?”</p><p>“Why would she let Pete in the house at that time of night?”</p><p>“Oh,” Hayes snorted.  “Ah, he said something about wanting to talk to the husband about investing some money and that Northcott had told him it would be okay if he happened to just drop by sometime, and as we were in the neighborhood and we saw the lights on…?”  Hayes shrugged as if it was a fait accompli.  </p><p>“Where did you have the gun?”</p><p>“I’d stuck it under my belt at the back, under my shirt.”</p><p>“Then what happened?”</p><p>“Well, ah, we went into the living room and sat on the couch.  The husband was in an armchair and the wife sat on the end of the couch close to her husband and beside Pete.  So, ah, they started to make small talk about the baby and the money he wanted to invest and all that kinda stuff and then Pete sorta nods at me… and, ah, I got up and walked around the couch and came up behind the husband real fast and shot him in the head.</p><p>“Then the wife, she jumped up from the couch and started to scream and Pete grabbed her and wrestled her down onto the carpet trying to keep her quiet, and I took a step closer to her and shot her in the chest.  Then Pete got up and ran towards the nursery and he was waving at me to follow him and I did.”  Hayes paused, still staring in the lieutenant’s direction but his eyes no longer focused.  “I, ah, I was standing in the door of the nursery and Pete was pointing inside… and he said, ‘Get the kid.’”</p><p>Steve looked at his partner.  Mike didn’t move but Steve could see his jaw muscles tighten.</p><p>“I, ah, I could only see the kid from the light in hallway.  He wasn’t moving… he was asleep, I guess.  Pete told me to hurry up.  And I thought, ‘I’m there to do a job’, so I raised the gun and I pulled the trigger.”  He blinked a couple of times and met Mike’s stare evenly.  </p><p>Unobtrusively, Steve took a small step closer to the his partner.</p><p>After several silent tense seconds, the lieutenant asked, “What happened next?”</p><p>Hayes shrugged.  “I put the gun back in my waistband and we walked out of the house and back to the car.  I don’t think anybody saw us.”  He looked from Mike to Campbell and raised his eyebrows.  “Is that what you wanted to hear?”</p><p>Without a word, Mike got to his feet, still staring at Hayes expressionlessly.  He had one more question and he waited just long enough to make the child killer start to squirm.  “How much did he pay you?”</p><p>Hayes stared into the hard, cold blue eyes for a long second then dropped his head.  “Ten thousand.”</p><p>Still staring unblinkingly, Mike took a deep breath and let it out slowly.  He looked at Campbell.  “Sergeant, if you could have Mr. Hayes write this all down and sign it, my partner and I will wait in the Chief’s office.”</p><p>Campbell nodded.  “Of course, Lieutenant.”</p><p>As Mike walked to the door, Zwicker suddenly became animated.  “What?  Wait.  Lieutenant, I want to make sure the offer still stands… my client’s confession in exchange -“</p><p>Mike had already opened the door and started to exit, Steve right behind him.  When the door closed, Mike walked to the other side of the corridor, turned to lean his back against the wall then slowly slid to the floor, resting his forearms across his upraised knees and dropping his head.</p><p>After a couple of long seconds, Steve moved to stand beside him then he too lowered himself to the floor, close but not touching his partner.  He heard footsteps approaching and looked up to see Captain Russell hurrying towards them.  He put his right hand up to halt the chief’s progress and the older man stopped, frowning in concern.  Steve briefly closed his eyes and nodded; the chief’s face softened and he nodded back, quietly retreating several steps before turning and heading back down the corridor.</p><p>Steve looked at his partner.  He waited for a bit before he said softly, “We got them, Mike, all of them.”</p><p>The fedora came up and the head turned slightly.  “Not yet,” he said softly.  “We have Hayes and Turnbull, but we haven’t got Northcott yet.  Not really.”</p><p>Nodding gently in agreement, Steve said encouragingly, “We will.”</p><p>Mike stared at him for a long beat and then nodded once before facing forward again.  His stare was far away.  He inhaled deeply.  “He was there to do a job…” he said flatly, his voice soft and distant.</p><p>Steve gave him some time then suggested quietly, “Listen, ah, why don’t we go wait in Chief Russell’s office till Sergeant Campbell gets Hayes’s confession for us?”</p><p>Mike looked gratefully at his partner and nodded.  Steve got to his feet then, offering his hand, helped the older man up and they started slowly down the corridor.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>The drive back to San Francisco was made in silence.  Mike sat with his left hand on the briefcase on the seat between them as if protecting the precious contents, which now included Hayes signed confession, witnessed by Campbell and Zwicker.  Steve kept stealing glances across the front seat but Mike’s stare through the windshield never wavered.</p><p>They were pulling into a parking spot in the underground garage at Bryant Street before the older man shook himself out of his reverie and looked across the front seat.  “Thanks for doing all the driving, buddy boy,” he said absent-mindedly as he picked up the briefcase and got out of the car.</p><p>“My pleasure,” the younger man chuckled gently.  He glanced at his watch.  It was only a little after two but it seemed much later.  He caught up to Mike at the elevator.  “Listen, ah, why don’t we drop that off,” he pointed at the briefcase, “and then head out and grab some lunch… and we can talk strategy.”  He knew that was what had been pre-occupying his partner since the end of the Hayes interrogation.</p><p>Mike was staring at the younger man with a soft, appreciative smile.  “Yeah, I like the sounds of that.  I am a little hungry.”</p><p># # # # #</p><p>“So have you come up with a game plan?” Steve asked before taking a sip of green tea, watching his partner put his chopsticks down to pick up a garlic spare rib.</p><p>Biting into the rib, Mike nodded, waiting till he swallowed to answer.  “We have to make sure we have enough to put Northcott away for the rest of his life, and the only way we’re going to do that is if Turnbull turns on him.  And I don’t know how easy that’s going to be.  From everything we’ve learned, they’re pretty tight.”</p><p>Steve nodded, picking up his chopsticks and attacking his chop suey.  “So how do you want to go about that?”</p><p>“Well,” the older man sighed, dropping the masticated rib bone onto his plate, “I want to talk to Gerry first thing tomorrow morning about all three of them, about what I already told Hayes and what I want for Turnbull and Northcott.  And I want to put two teams on Turnbull and Northcott starting tomorrow morning.  But just to follow.  I want the pleasure of putting handcuffs on both of them myself.  But I want to pull Turnbull in first without Northcott knowing anything about it so we can try to get him to turn on his buddy.”</p><p>Steve was staring at his partner through narrowed eyes and he waited a beat before venturing, “You know what that might mean, right?”</p><p>Mike bobbled his head with a frustrated facial shrug.  “I know, I know… believe me, I don’t want to even think about it right now… but we may not have a choice.”</p><p>The younger man sighed heavily, looking down at his plate.  </p><p>“Listen, ah, you’re gonna follow up with Chief Russell about getting Hayes back up here, right?”</p><p>“Yeah, I’ll call him again when we get back.”  </p><p>A silence fell over the table as they continued to eat.  Eventually Steve looked up.  “Hey, ah, that was a helluva job you did on Hayes this morning…”</p><p>Mike looked at him with a slight frown then smiled self-consciously.  “Thanks…” he acknowledged softly, looking down.  “We were well prepared,” he deflected with a chuckle.</p><p>“Yeah… right…” Steve smiled warmly then he laughed.  “That bit with the chair was brilliant…”</p><p>Mike looked up again, joining in the laugh.  “Oh my god, I thought I wouldn’t be able to keep a straight face.  We’ve gotta use that one.  That was… inspired…”</p><p># # # # #</p><p>The secretary looked up and nodded at the two detectives.  As they got up from the leather couch, Mike picked up the briefcase and followed his partner to the door.  Steve opened it and took a step back, allowing the older man to precede him.</p><p>Assistant Deputy Attorney Gerry O’Brien looked up and smiled.  “Mike… Steve… Good morning.”</p><p>“Gerry,” Mike grinned as he crossed to the desk and shook hands with the now standing ADA.  Steve did the same.  </p><p>After they had all settled into respective chairs, the ADA leaned forward, resting his forearms on his desk.  “What can I do for you fellas this morning?”</p><p>“It’s the Goodman case,” Mike said, putting the briefcase on his lap and opening it.</p><p>O’Brien frowned.  “The Goodman case?”</p><p>Mike nodded.  “Unh-hunh.  That triple murder over in Sea Cliff, just over two months ago…”</p><p>“That, ah, that murder-suicide?”</p><p>Both detectives nodded then Mike started to shake his head.  “Yeah, ah, that’s what O’Donnell said.”  He glanced at Steve.  “But we think differently.”</p><p># # # # #</p><p>The forest green Galaxie pulled to the curb and the engine shut off.  As the passenger took a pair of binoculars out of the glove box, the driver flipped the visor down, exposing two colour photos of Peter Turnbull affixed by elastics.</p><p>Healey pointed down the block with the binoculars.  “Lee and Bill are here.”</p><p>As Haseejian watched the dark blue LTD park a block down on the other side, Healey slumped in the seat, staring through the binoculars at the large house midway between the two unmarked cars.</p><p>Now all they had to do was wait and hope.</p>
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<a name="section0054"><h2>54. Chapter 54</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“So what do you think?” Mike asked, staring at the top of O’Brien’s downturned head.  </p><p>The ADA had just finished reading Eugene Hayes’s confession and his head was still down.  It came up slowly.  “This is pretty powerful stuff you’ve got here.”</p><p>Both detectives nodded.  </p><p>“Do we have enough to get arrest warrants for Turnbull and Northcott?” Steve asked.</p><p>Taking a deep breath, O’Brien looked from the junior cop to the senior.  “For Turnbull, without a doubt.  But for Northcott…?  Well, let’s just say you’re not there yet… not quite.  It’s still one generation too removed.”</p><p>There was a beat of silence.  “We need to flip Peter Turnbull,” Steve stated flatly.</p><p>O’Brien nodded.  “Yeah, you need to flip Peter Turnbull.”  He looked at Mike.  “Sorry.”</p><p>The older man snorted mirthlessly.  “That doesn’t come as a surprise, Gerry.”  He exhaled loudly, looking at his partner.  “Okay, we still have work to do, buddy boy,” he said lightly as he got to his feet.  He reached across the desk and starting collecting the material he had presented and putting it in the briefcase.</p><p>O’Brien watched him, a small, admiring smile on his face.  He leaned back in the large swivel chair, glancing at Steve before addressing the lieutenant.  “You, ah, you took a big risk doing this, didn’t you?”</p><p>Mike paused momentarily as he put the reports in the briefcase.  “Do you think I was wrong to do it?”</p><p>The ADA stared at him evenly for a long beat then shook his head.  “Definitely not.”</p><p>Mike straightened up and he took a beat before asking.  “So why do you think O’Donnell listed Jane Goodman’s cause of death as suicide?”</p><p>O’Brien inhaled deeply and shook his head.  “I have no idea, Mike… absolutely none.  Have you found any connection between O’Donnell and anyone in this case?”  He looked from one detective to the other and they both shook their heads.</p><p>“To be perfectly honest,” Mike said softly, “I don’t think we’re going to either.  And that’s probably the most frustrating thing in all of this.”  He finished picking up the papers and closed the briefcase.</p><p>“Well, if it means anything, I think you’re doing a hell of a job with this, and you’re well on your way to getting justice not only for Jane Goodman, but for her husband and her little boy as well.”</p><p>With an appreciative nod, Mike picked up the briefcase and turned for the door.  As Steve came up behind him, he stopped and looked back at the desk.  “Thanks, Gerry, that means a lot.”</p><p>The ADA nodded.  “Get that warrant to me as soon as you can and I’ll sign it.”</p><p># # # # #</p><p>“Homicide, Keller.”</p><p>“Jeez, it’s quite a hike to the nearest payphone out here, you know.”</p><p>Steve laughed.  “So what is happening out there on the streets, Dan?”</p><p>“Not much.  Nobody’s left the house. Hell, nobody’s even been to the house except the postman.  Bill and Lee are in position too but so far the only action I’ve had has been watching Norm try to stay awake.”</p><p>“Well, you better make sure he does or Mike’ll have both your heads.”</p><p>“Don’t worry, I’m on it.  Listen, what happened with O’Brien this morning?”</p><p>“We got our arrest warrant for Turnbull but not for Northcott, not yet anyway, so it’s imperative that we get our hands on Turnbull without Northcott knowing anything about it.”</p><p>“You got it.”</p><p>“Anyway, ah, Mike said if nothing shakes before four, we’ll spell you and Norm and we’ll get Grabowski and Ryan to take over for Lee and Bill.  Oh, and, ah, now that this is a legit investigation, we can use the police radio again…. We’re no longer flying under the radar, so to speak.”</p><p>“Good to hear.  Okay, we’ll be touch.”</p><p># # # # #</p><p>“So when did the car pool get that spiffy little Cougar?” Mike asked idly, staring down the street through the binoculars.</p><p>Steve squinted from behind his dark glasses.  “I have no idea… but I like it.”</p><p>Mike lower the binoculars and looked across the front seat.  “Don’t get any ideas.  We’re sticking with ‘the boat’.”</p><p>Chuckling, the younger man slumped down in the seat.  “The thought never crossed my mind.”</p><p>A companionable silence filled the sedan.  </p><p>Steve leaned back against the headrest and closed his eyes.  “Don’t those guys ever leave the house?” he asked rhetorically.</p><p>“Nobody’s seen them today.  Are we sure they’re even in there to start with?”</p><p>The younger man’s head came up.  “Hmmm… that’s a good point.”</p><p>Mike looked at him and shrugged with a snort.  “Too late now.”  He raised the binoculars again and Steve settled back and closed his eyes.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>“Hey, wake up!”  He felt a soft smack on his upper right arm and he sat up, instantly on full alert.  He looked across the front seat.  Mike was staring through the binoculars at the Northcott house.  He followed the line of sight.  A racing green Jaguar was backing out of the driveway.  As he scrambled to turn the key in the ignition, Mike lowered the binoculars and dropped his head.</p><p>As the sports car slowly passed them, Steve glanced to his left, studying the Jag through his dark glasses.  “They’re both in the car,” he said quietly.</p><p>“Shit!” Mike muttered, keeping his head down.  “They’re probably going out to dinner or something like that.”  As Steve swung the LTD out onto the street then into a nearby driveway to turn around and follow, Mike snagged the radio mic.  “Inspectors 5-4, please respond.”  </p><p>There was a click then, “Yeah, Mike, you want us to follow?”</p><p>“No, you guys wait here.  Steve and I’ll tail them so we’re not too obvious and I’ll radio you when we know if we’re going to need you.”</p><p>“10-4.”</p><p># # # # # </p><p>The LTD followed, at a discreet distance, as the Jaguar turned into a multi-level parking garage on Mason.  The Jag pulled into an open space on the second floor.  The unmarked police car drove past and turned to go up to the next level, stopping briefly on the ramp to let the passenger out.</p><p>Mike, his fedora in his hand, walked slowly back down the ramp as Steve quickly parked the LTD on the next level, scrambling to join his partner.  He caught up just as the older man was stepping around the ramp wall and starting down the second level aisle.  “They just went into the stairwell,” he whispered loudly over his shoulder as he broke into a jog towards the staircase.  He gestured at the other end of the structure.  “Take the far one.”</p><p>Steve broke into a run, starting down the far stairwell several seconds after Mike had disappeared into the first one.  When he got to the street, he looked both ways, catching sight of his partner at the corner, turning left onto Geary.  He sprinted to catch up, slowing down when he turned the corner, allowing Mike to casually stroll up Geary several yards behind their quarry, who seemed unaware they were being followed.</p><p>Turnbull and Northcott slowed down in front of the The Clift Hotel; Turnbull opened the door and Northcott preceded him into the large beige brick building.  Mike followed at a tactful distance as the two well-dressed men crossed the lobby and disappeared into The Redwood Room.  Slowing his pace, the lieutenant changed direction, approaching the front desk and picking up a hotel brochure.  He glanced up as Steve appeared in the lobby and joined him.  With a wry smile, he nodded over his shoulder towards the restaurant.  “Too rich for my blood.”</p><p>The younger man snorted.  “Me too.”</p><p># # # # #</p><p>“What’s that?” Steve asked with a frown as Mike opened the back door of the tan Galaxie and set a small Coleman cooler in the back seat before climbing into the front.</p><p>Mike grinned.  “Well, we got in so late last night, and we’re heading out so early this morning, that my daughter took pity on me… well, on us, I guess.”  He jerked a thumb over his shoulder towards the back seat.  “She made us lunch!”</p><p>“Are you kidding?” Steve laughed as he pulled the car away from the curb.  “That’s great!  What’s on the menu?”</p><p>“Fried chicken and Caesar salad,” Mike chuckled proudly.</p><p>“I like the way this day is starting out,” Steve laughed.  </p><p>The previous evening had been a bust.  Turnbull and Northcott didn’t leave The Redwood Room until almost 11 pm and went straight home.  They were hoping for a better result today.</p><p> # # # # #</p><p>It was shortly before noon when the metallic gold Mercedes pulled out of the Northcott driveway and started down the street past the Galaxie.  Mike was behind the wheel, and he swung the Ford sedan into U-turn to follow.</p><p>“Don’t you think that’s a little obvious?” Steve winced as the older man completed the turn.</p><p>Mike chuckled.  “Relax, he’s already around the corner.”</p><p>Following at a safe distance, they tailed the Mercedes towards the downtown core.  Traffic was moderately heavy and it hard to keep up but the colour of the expensive German car made it easy to spot.  When it turned onto Stockton then pulled to the curb in front of a tall white apartment building, the brown Galaxie cruised by, making a right turn onto Pine.  Finding an open space at the curb, Mike pulled over and parked and they jumped out.  Steve sprinted to the corner in time to see Turnbull get out of the Mercedes and enter the apartment building.</p><p>Mike joined him.  “You take the front, I’ll take the back.”  He handed the younger man a walkie-talkie.  Steve crossed the street and started up Stockton.  The Ritz-Carleton was across the street; he hoped to use it as a cover.</p><p>Mike went back down Pine to Joice and up the staircase to the narrow street than ran along the back of the hotel.  It could be a long wait but Turnbull was alone, and that was what they needed.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>Mike was sitting in the shade of two magnolia trees on the short concrete wall at the top of the staircase.  He glanced at his watch.  It had only been a half-hour but it seemed longer.  Depending on what Turnbull was doing in the apartment building, there was a possibility he could be in there all day.</p><p>He was just about to hail his partner when he heard the sound of a woman’s laughter and his hackles rose.  He shot to his feet, circled the wall and descended a few steps so he was out of sight.  A man and a woman appeared from between two buildings and turned right towards California; it was Turnbull.  Mike brought the walkie-talkie to his mouth and pushed the button.  </p><p>“Steve, he’s on Joice, heading towards California.  He’s with a woman. Cut him off.”</p><p>“Gotcha!!”</p><p>Not wanting to spook their quarry, or put the woman in jeopardy, Mike held back, following at a distance.  </p><p>Running at full speed, Steve rounded the corner onto California heading towards Joice, relieved  he couldn’t see Turnbull yet.  Then the man and the woman came into view and he increased his pace, managing to catch up as they turned away from him.  As he circled in front of them as Mike, now at a full run, came up behind.</p><p>Turnbull and the woman stopped abruptly.  “What the hell’s going on?” he demanded, glaring at the heavily breathing young man blocking his path.  </p><p>Steve pulled his badge out of his pants pocket.  “Inspector Keller, San Francisco Police,” he managed to spit out, nodding over Turnbull’s shoulder.  “Lieutenant Stone.”  </p><p>Turnbull and the woman both turned abruptly.  A grinning Mike, his badge in hand as well, stood behind them.</p><p>“Excuse me, ma’am,” Steve said politely, pushing the woman aside as he unclipped the cuffs from the back of his belt and handed Mike his walkie-talkie.  As his partner recited the Miranda warning, Steve slapped the cuffs around the unresisting Turnbull’s wrists.</p><p>“What the hell is this all about?!” </p><p>“We’ll tell you all about it downtown,” Mike said coldly, giving both walkie-talkies to his partner before grabbing Turnbull by the elbow, turning him around then propelling him down Joice.</p><p>“My car’s on Stockton!” Turnbull growled angrily.</p><p>“And it’s gonna stay there,” Mike countered.</p><p>As Steve started to follow, he turned to the woman and nodded.  “Ma’am.”  She watched in confusion and alarm as Turnbull was led away.</p><p>“I want to know what this is all about!” Turnbull roared as Mike almost pulled him down Joice, which was more an alley than an actual street.  “Where are we going?”</p><p>Choosing to ignore him, Mike, keeping a hand on Turnbull’s elbow, lead the way towards their car, Steve bringing up the rear.  Turnbull kept flashing angry glares over his shoulder towards the younger cop, who stared back defiantly.</p><p>They got to the small wall above the staircase and Mike pulled Turnbull around it and started down.  Suddenly, with a roar, Turnbull jerked out of Mike’s grasp and bolted.  Losing his footing on the concrete steps, his hands behind his back, he started to fall.  Instinctively, Mike reached out and grabbed his arm and, as Steve watched in horror, both men plummeted down the steep concrete steps.</p>
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<a name="section0055"><h2>55. Chapter 55</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Mike!” Steve yelled as he watched his partner and Turnbull tumble down the steep two-storey concrete staircase.  </p><p>About half-way down, with a loud pain-filled groan, Mike managed to get a purchase on one of the steps and slowed his fall, flailing out with the other hand to grab the back of Turnbull’s coat; they fell another few steps but finally came to a stop about ten steps from the sidewalk.  Mike was lying horizontally atop a step, Turnbull in more of a sitting position.</p><p>Steve was already on his way down, taking two steps at a time, when Mike groaned again and his head fell back, his eyes closing.  Steve almost slid to a stop, trying to keep from falling himself as he kneeled on the step above; he dropped the walkie-talkies and reached down, wanting to touch his unmoving partner but not sure where.  </p><p>Mike groaned once more, releasing a held breath in a pain-filled gasp, and opened his eyes, raising his head slightly.  </p><p>“Don’t move, don’t move, don’t move,” Steve repeated over and over, putting his hand on the older man’s upper chest, trying to hold him down as he loosened Mike’s tie and undid the collar button.</p><p>Mike tried to sit up, pushing against the restraining hand.  “I’m okay,” he said softly, catching his breath again, “I’m okay…”</p><p>“Like hell you are, lie still.”  Steve increased the pressure.</p><p>There was a soft, almost impatient sigh then the older man repeated slowly, “I’m okay.  Really…. I don’t think I busted anything…”</p><p>“Well, do me a favor and just lie there for a minute, will you?  I’ve gotta check on Turnbull.”</p><p>Rolling his eyes in artificial irritation, Mike let his head fall back onto the concrete.  Remarkably his hat was still on and it provided a little cushioning.  He closed his eyes, breathing heavily in worrying gasps through his open mouth.</p><p>With another concerned look at his partner, Steve stepped over him closer to Turnbull, who was also conscious, lying on his back against several steps, his arms still pinned behind him and his eyes squeezed shut, moaning in pain.  “I think my goddamn arm is broken, I think my goddamn arm is broken…” he kept spitting out angrily.  </p><p>“It’s your own goddamn fault if it is,” Steve growled as he knelt beside their suspect, fishing in his pants pocket for the handcuff key.  “Lean forward,” he ordered.</p><p>Turnbull, his face twisted in pain, looked at him in confusion.</p><p>“I said lean forward if you want me take the cuffs off.”</p><p>Turnbull wiggled slightly on the step, trying to get closer to the cop, gritting his teeth and trying not to moan.  With a gasp, he threw his torso forward, exposing his bound hands.  </p><p>Steve’s eyes widened in alarm but he managed to suppress his shock.  Turnbull’s left wrist was grossly swollen against the metal cuff.  Trying not to impart any more agony than was humanly possible, he carefully slipped the key into the locking mechanism and opened the cuff, prying it gently off the obviously broken wrist, then releasing the other one.  With a gasp, Turnbull brought both arms in front of him, squealing in alarm when he caught sight of his grossly swollen wrist and cradling it against his body, rocking slightly and moaning.</p><p>Steve looked at his partner.  Mike’s head was still against the step, his eyes closed, but his breathing had calmed and the lines of pain on his face had subsided somewhat.  He allowed himself a sigh of relief, then realized he had no idea what to do next.  He didn’t want to leave Turnbull, now uncuffed, alone with Mike, but he had to get to the car to call for help.</p><p>He looked back up the stairs but there was no one there.  Just as he turned to look down towards Pine, a young long-haired man in jeans and a tie-dyed shirt came into view, starting up then jerking to a stop with a, “Holy hell, man, what’s goin’ on?”</p><p>Steve took out his badge and held it up.  “San Francisco Police.  Listen, ah, we need a little help…”</p><p>The wide, stunned eyes travelled over all three before settling on Steve again.  “Ah, yeah, sure, what can I do?”</p><p>“Great.  Ah, I need you to go find a cop.  Flag a car down and call or -“</p><p>“Yeah, you got it,” the kid said quickly, turning and running out of sight.  </p><p>With a hopeful sigh, Steve put his badge away, glancing at Turnbull, who was still nursing his broken wrist, before climbing back up a couple of steps and leaning over his partner again.  “Mike…” he said softly.  He saw the older man’s lips start to twitch then curl into a soft smile, and then the entire body started to shake.  He watched, frowning in concern, for a couple of seconds before he blurted out, “Are you laughing?”</p><p>Still shaking, his eyes squeezed shut, Mike nodded.</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>Opening his eyes, Mike’s nod turned into a shake.  “I don’t know,” he managed to get out, smiling up at his very concerned young friend.  He stopped laughing gradually.  “I’m okay, buddy boy… honest… I’m okay…”</p><p>Steve smiled down at him, worry still creasing his features.  “Are you sure?”</p><p>The faint sound of an approaching siren could be heard.</p><p>Mike smiled back.  “I’m pretty sure…”</p><p>“Pretty sure, hunh?  You want to try sitting up?”</p><p>“That might be a good idea.”  Mike closed his eyes briefly, as if preparing himself, then he raised his left hand and Steve took it.  With his right bracing against the step below, and Steve’s other hand slipping behind his back, he gritted his teeth and started to slowly push himself into a sitting position.  Once up, he froze for a few long seconds, his eyes closed, as if taking stock, then he opened his eyes and smiled at his partner.  “So far, so good.”  Releasing Steve’s hand, he turned slowly on the step and put his feet on the one below, then he nodded.</p><p>Somewhat relieved, Steve patted him on the back then, with an angry look at Turnbull, who was still moaning and holding his broken wrist, headed down the steps to the sidewalk to meet up with the approaching black-and-white.</p><p>When he got back with one of the uniformed officers, neither man had moved, though Mike was staring daggers into the back of Turnbull’s head.  Steve sat beside his partner.  “There’s an ambulance coming.”</p><p>Mike turned to him sharply.  “I don’t need an ambulance.”</p><p>“Well, we’ll see about that,” Steve said half under his breath, “but he does.”  He nodded at Turnbull.  “And while we’re waiting for him to get checked out and his wrist fixed, I want them to have a look at you too.”</p><p>“Steve…”</p><p>“Look, I’m not having Jeannie tear strips off me if she knows I watched you fall down a flight of stairs and didn’t have a doctor check you out.”</p><p>“I didn’t fall down a flight of stairs.”</p><p>“Half a flight of stairs.  And don’t argue.  You’re not in charge right now, I am.”</p><p>“You are?”</p><p>“Yeah.  And I don’t think you’re in a position to argue, do you?  You haven’t even got to your feet yet.”  </p><p>Mike was glaring at him but Steve could tell his heart wasn’t in it; the older man was obviously still very rattled by what he had just been through.  Smiling warmly, Steve patted him gently on the back.  With a soft snort, Mike looked down, inhaling deeply and letting it out slowly.</p><p>“You sure you’re okay?”</p><p>Mike nodded, smiling gratefully but not making eye contact.  </p><p>The uniformed officer had helped Turnbull down the remaining steps and they were standing on the sidewalk when the ambulance pulled up.  Steve got to his feet, descended a couple of steps then turned to face his partner.  He extended his right hand and raised his eyebrows.</p><p>Mike looked up at him warily then reached out and grabbed his hand.  Closing his eyes as if bracing himself for what was to come, he got gingerly to his feet.  Upright, he opened his eyes, looked at his partner and smiled in relief.  Steve let go of Mike’s hand but stood close by his side as the older man made his way slowly down to the sidewalk.</p><p>Turnbull was already in the ambulance, sitting on a gurney.  One of the attendants was slipping his broken arm into a sling.</p><p>The partners slowly approached the ambulance.  “There’s room for one more, Lieutenant,” the patrolman said with a smile.</p><p>Mike shook his head.  “I’m okay, son.  I’ll ride with him.”  He nodded towards Steve.  “What hospital are you taking him to?”, he asked the ambulance attendant.</p><p>“St. Francis.”</p><p>Mike looked at the patrolman.  “You’ll ride with him?”</p><p>“Yes, sir,” the uniformed officer answered crisply with a respectful smile.  “He’s not going anywhere, except to the hospital.”</p><p>“Good.  We’ll see you there.”  With another angry glance at Turnbull, Mike turned and slowly followed his partner to the Galaxie.  Steve had the door open when he got there and he climbed carefully into the front seat.</p><p>By the time Steve got behind the wheel, Mike had his head back and his eyes closed.  Before the younger man could say anything, he said softly, “Don’t worry, I’m okay… just bruised… my body and my ego…”  He chuckled, opening his eyes and turning his head slightly against the seat so he could see his partner’s reaction.</p><p>Shaking his head and smiling in amused frustration, Steve reached out and gently patted Mike’s leg before starting the car and following the ambulance as it wound its way to St. Francis.</p><p># # # # # </p><p>Steve was sitting in the waiting room, leaning forward, staring at the floor, his elbows on his knees, when he heard heavy footsteps approaching and looked up to see Healey and Haseejian charging towards him.  He was just straightening up when Healey almost yelled across the room, “What the hell happened?”</p><p>Raising both hands to make them slow down and lower their voices, Steve got to his feet.  “It was just a little accident.”</p><p>“A little accident?”  Haseejian sounded incredulous.</p><p>“Mike and Turnbull fell down some stairs… you know the ones on Joice at Pine.”</p><p>“Yeah, yeah, we know where they are but… is Mike okay?”</p><p>Steve nodded.  “Yeah, yeah, they’re checking him out.  No broken bones that I know of, but he’s gonna be bruised and he’s kinda shaken up…”<br/>“Yeah, I bet…” Healey shook his head in disbelief.  “How’s Turnbull?”</p><p>The inspector shrugged.  “Well, he’s got a broken wrist.  They’re fitting him with a cast.  That’s all I know right now.”</p><p>Haseejian looked over his shoulder towards the examination rooms.  “Is he in there alone?”</p><p>Steve quickly shook his head.  “No, there’s a patrolman with him.  I brought Mike in.”</p><p>“Good, good,” the Armenian sergeant nodded, almost to himself.  “So, ah, so what do you need us to do?”</p><p>Steve shrugged.  “Well, I know Mike’s gonna want to bring Turnbull back to the Hall when we get finished here and do what we need to do to get him to turn on Northcott.  I just don’t know when that’s all gonna happen.”  He frowned to himself, trying to work through what he wanted done.  “Listen, ah, can you guys sit on Northcott and if he shows any sign of heading to Bryant Street, like he somehow found out what’s going on with Turnbull, intercept him in some way.  And make sure he doesn’t bolt and try to leave town.”</p><p>Both sergeants nodded.  “You got it,” Healey assured as they started to turn away.  </p><p>Haseejian looked back.  “Tell Mike we’re glad he’s okay.”</p><p>Steve smiled.  “Will do.”  He watched them go then sank onto the chair once more.  He dropped his head into his hands and inhaled deeply.  Several minutes later he heard soft slow footsteps getting closer and looked up.  With a self-conscious smile, Mike, his tie still loose and collar button undone, his hat pushed back on his head, was shuffling towards him.  Steve stood quickly, reaching out to put a hand on his partner’s elbow when he got closer.  “Here, sit down.”  </p><p>Mike lowered himself slowly and carefully onto the black metal chair; Steve sat beside him.  “So?  What did the doctor say?”  There was genuine concern in his voice and Mike’s smile got a little wider.</p><p>“Like I said, nothing broken, but I’m gonna have a lot of bruises and I’m gonna be really stiff and sore for a few days.”  He reached into his jacket pocket and took out a pill bottle, shaking it so Steve could hear the rattle.  “They gave me a bunch of Tylenol.”</p><p>Steve stared at him expressionlessly.  Mike raised his eyebrows and shrugged slightly, trying not to wince.</p><p>“I guess there’s no point in suggesting I take you home so you can get some rest, is there?”</p><p>There was a beat of silence before the older man said with a chuckle, “No point whatsoever.”</p>
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<a name="section0056"><h2>56. Chapter 56</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Mike had leaned the back of his head against the wall, stretching out as best he could in the waiting room chair,  crossing his arms and closing his eyes; Steve was keeping a watchful eye beside him.  They had been waiting for over a half-hour before the younger man asked softly, “Listen, ah, you think you might be more comfortable lying in the back seat of the car?”</p><p>Mike lowered his head, turning slightly and opening his eyes.  He smiled warmly.  “I’m okay…. I’d rather not move, truth be told.  I think it’s gonna hurt.”  He paused for a quick beat.  “Hey, you know what the doctor said?” he asked bemusedly.</p><p>“No, what?”</p><p>“He said all the layers of clothes I wear helped cushion the fall…”  He paused for a second then started to chuckle, trying not to wince, and after a beat Steve did too.  “How much longer to you think it’s gonna take?”</p><p>Still chuckling, Steve got to his feet, patting his partner on the knee as he did so.  “I’ll go check.”  He took a couple of steps away then looked back.  “Don’t go anywhere,” he laughed with a wink.</p><p>“Yeah, right…”  Mike watched for several beats before leaning back and closing his eyes again.  A couple of minutes later, he heard the younger man return and drop into the chair beside him.  “He’s almost ready.  The patrolman’ll bring him out.”  There was a slight pause.  “It was just his wrist, by the way, so he’s good to go.”</p><p>Leaving his head against the wall and his eyes closed, Mike nodded slowly.  “What time is it anyway?”</p><p>Steve looked at his watch.  “Just after three.  Why?”</p><p>The older man shrugged slightly.  “We didn’t have lunch, did we?”</p><p>Steve stared at him for a beat then smiled.  “The cooler’s still in the backseat.”</p><p>Mike lifted his head again and turned with a smile.  “I forgot about that.  We could have it when we get back to the office.”</p><p>“We could,” Steve nodded, chuckling.  A small flurry of activity at the far side of the room caught his attention and he looked over to see the patrolman standing with Turnbull, his left arm in a sling.  He tapped Mike on the arm and pointed.  “They’re ready.”  He stood and extended his hand to his partner.  </p><p>Mike looked up with obvious trepidation then reached out and took the proffered hand and, gritting his teeth, got slowly to his feet.  He held onto Steve’s hand until he felt secure then let it go.</p><p>“How do you feel?”</p><p>The older man nodded tentatively with a wan smile.  “Okay…not bad.”  He turned slowly and, slightly hunched, started across the large waiting room, Steve close behind.  </p><p>As they approached Turnbull and the patrolman, Mike started to walk a little straighter.  He nodded at the patrolman, ignoring Turnbull.  “Officer.  Is your car here?”</p><p>The young man nodded.  “Ah, yes, sir.  My partner’s in it just outside.”  He pointed vaguely in the general direction of the emergency vehicle parking lot.</p><p>“Good.  We need you to bring him back to Bryant Street for us.  Up to Homicide.”</p><p>“Yes, sir.”</p><p>“Good.  Thank you.”  Mike took a step away then turned back to the patrolman.  “Ah, you might want to, ah…”  He gestured at Turnbull and the tall young cop smiled, reaching to the back of his belt for his handcuffs.</p><p>“You got it,” the patrolman chuckled, grabbing Turnbull’s right arm and snapping the cuff on his wrist then affixing the other end to his own left arm.</p><p>With grateful nods, the detectives started towards the door.  Mike slowed down as they approached the car, getting in carefully then putting his head back against the seat.  Steve looked over as he started the engine.  “Are you sure you don’t want to go home?”</p><p>Mike turned his head slowly against the seat.  “So I get a choice between going home to my daughter, who’s gonna go through the roof when she finds out what happened, or interrogate Turnbull and try to get him to flip on Northcott?  What do you think?”</p><p>Steve stared at him silently for a long beat.  “Well, if you’re going to put it that way…”  He sighed facetiously as he shifted into Drive and backed the Galaxie out of the parking space, trying to hide his grin.</p><p>Chuckling, Mike let his head roll back and closed his eyes.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>There was buzz of concerned voices as Mike slowly followed his partner into the Homicide bullpen.  Every officer in the room got to their feet and approached the lieutenant anxiously.  After assuring everyone that he was fine and just a little stiff, Mike made his way into his office, Steve behind him, the Coleman cooler in his hands.  He closed the door and dropped his hat on the coat rack before crossing behind the desk to sit slowly and carefully in the large swivel chair.</p><p>Putting the cooler on the desk, Steve stood on the other side, looking down, unable to mask the worry in his eyes.  “Are you sure you’re up to this?”</p><p>Mike looked at him blankly for a long second before his eyes flicked briefly towards the cooler.  “Yeah, I love fried chicken and Caesar salad.  Don’t you?”</p><p>“Ha ha,” the younger man said dryly and Mike chuckled.  Shaking his head, Steve took the lid off the cooler and started to reach in.</p><p>“Ah,” Mike stopped him, looking at his own hands, “I think we need to wash our hands first, don’t you?”</p><p>Steve pulled his hands out of the cooler and looked at them.  “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”</p><p>Mike whimpered comically.  “Ohhh god, that means I’ve got to get up and walk all the way to the bathroom…”</p><p># # # # #</p><p>Steve stood, reaching across the desk to pick up the paper plate with the remains of the chicken bones from in front of his partner.  Watching him, Mike pointed towards the bullpen.  “Put it in the garbage out there, please.”</p><p>Nodding, Steve stepped through the inner office door to drop the plates and bones into the can beside the coffee station.  He looked across the bullpen at the glass-walled interrogation room.  Turnbull, hunched over, cradling his cast-covered arm in the sling against his chest, was staring morosely at the table; the young patrolman was standing near the closed door.  They had been in there for almost an hour.</p><p>Stepping back into the office, Steve nodded towards the interrogation room.  “When do you want to start on Turnbull?”</p><p>Mike, wiping the top of his desk with his hanky, glanced up, frowning.  “Let him stew for awhile.  It serves him right.”</p><p>The interrogation room door opened and the patrolman crossed the bullpen to the inner office door.  He was about to knock when Mike caught his eye.  He nodded back over his shoulder.  “He just asked for his lawyer.”</p><p>Frowning, Steve glanced at his watch then at his partner.  “It took him this long to decide that?”  They shared an annoyed look.</p><p>The patrolman shrugged.  “He hasn’t said two words to me this whole time, except just now to demand his lawyer.”</p><p>Steve looked at Mike and raised his eyebrows.  The lieutenant nodded at the patrolman.  “Give him his call and then you can get outa here.  Thanks for your help today.”</p><p>The patrolman smiled.  “No problem, sir.  I’m, ah, I’m glad you’re okay.”</p><p>Steve looked at his partner when the patrolman left.  “So, you want to do this tonight?  We can hold him till tomorrow without charging him, right?”</p><p>Mike looked at him through narrowed eyes.  “You’re just trying to make me go home… I know how your mind works.”</p><p>The younger man shrugged enigmatically.</p><p>“I appreciate the concern, I really do,” Mike smiled affectionately, “but Northcott’s going to know something’s up when Turnbull doesn’t go home tonight, right?”</p><p>Steve nodded slightly, trying to keep his frustration in check.  “Yeah…”</p><p>“Well, if we can convince Turnbull to come clean tonight, if we can get him to flip on Northcott, then I think we can also convince him to…” he shrugged with a facial shrug, “well, to give us a hand tonight.”</p><p>His brow furrowing, Steve tilted his head.  “What kind of hand?”</p><p>Mike’s smile turned enigmatic.  “Do me a favour and get Gerry O’Brien on the phone for me.  I need to make a trip to the bathroom.”  He held up his hands and grinned.  “My fingers are greasy.”</p><p># # # # #</p><p>“It was delicious, sweetheart, really hit the spot…. Okay, so you go ahead and have dinner.  Steve and I are going to be late tonight…. Yeah….  Yeah, you got it…. Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow.  Oh, ah, Steve might be staying over tonight.”  Mike looked up at his partner, who was standing in the doorway, and winked.  “Yeah, if you could put them on the couch that would be great.  Oh, ah, no, we’ll probably have to leave before the sun comes up tomorrow so Steve’ll raincheck on the French toast, okay?…. All right.  Love you too, sweetheart.  Bye bye.”  Mike hung up and raised his eyebrows.  “Whew, one bullet dodged.”</p><p>Steve chuckled.  “For tonight.  You do know you’re going to be more sore and even stiffer tomorrow, right?  She’s gonna get suspicious when she sees you lurching around like Frankenstein.”</p><p>Mike sighed in genial frustration.  “Funny.  Well, maybe I’ll get lucky and I’ll feel fine tomorrow.”</p><p>The younger man snorted.  “Oh yeah, that’ll happen.”  He hefted the file folder in his hand.  “You ready to do this?”</p><p>With a solemn nod, Mike got slowly to his feet, pushing himself up with both hands on the desk and closing his eyes.  He swayed slightly before he opened his eyes and smiled reassuringly at his partner, doing up his collar button and tightening his tie as he led the way across the bullpen to the interrogation room.</p><p>He was walking normally by the time he opened the glass-paned door and preceded Steve into the room.  Turnbull’s lawyer was sitting beside his client on the far side of the wooden desk.  He got to his feet.  “Mr. Turnbull has asked me to file a police brutality report on his behalf,” the florid-faced, middle-aged aged blond man in the thousand dollar custom-made Zegna suit began before Steve had even closed the door.</p><p>The detectives took the time to look at each other and chuckle derisively before Mike looked at the still anonymous attorney and shook his head in amused disbelief.  He turned his attention to Turnbull.  “You really want to try that?” He stared into their suspect’s defiant eyes.  “You want to compare bruises, Mr. Turnbull?”  He turned his now angry glare in the lawyer’s direction.  “Do you actually think if I pushed him down those stairs deliberately that I would throw myself after him to stop his fall?”</p><p>The lawyer, suddenly flustered, looked at Turnbull, who had yet to take his eyes off the lieutenant, then back to Mike before sitting heavily.  With an annoyed snort, Mike sat in the chair near the door, successfully masking his discomfort.  Steve stepped to the table and deliberately dropped the thick file before he sat.</p><p>There was a strained beat of silence before Mike said coldly, “Lieutenant Stone… Inspector Keller.”  Steve nodded.  They both glared at the attorney, who was holding his expensive gold pen in both hands resting on a legal length pad on the table.</p><p>“Norman Lederer, MacAvoy Lederer and Fisher.  I’m representing Mr. Turnbull.”  He nodded at the sullen man beside him, who was still cradling his broken wrist.  “I don’t believe you informed my colleague of the charges before he was -“  He caught himself then continued.  “Before he fell down the stairs.”</p><p>“Trying to run,” Steve finished the sentence for him and Mike flashed his partner a quick, approving smile.</p><p>Leaning forward slightly, Mike’s suddenly cold stare slid from Lederer to Turnbull and back again.  “He didn’t give us much of a chance.”  He looked at Turnbull again.  “Your client is being charged with three counts of first degree murder… and we’ve asked the district attorney for the death penalty.”</p>
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<a name="section0057"><h2>57. Chapter 57</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Turnbull and Lederer froze, both staring at the calm and focused lieutenant on the other side of the table.  The lawyer’s eyes flashed towards his client briefly before asking, “And what murders would these be, may I ask?”</p><p>“Charles, Jane and Robbie Goodman,” Mike answered Lederer’s question but his focus was on Turnbull; the middle-aged, dark-haired man with the hundred dollar haircut and porn star moustache didn’t flinch.  Mike leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on the edge of the table.  “You know who they are, don’t you, Mr. Turnbull?  Jane Goodman was the sister of your best friend…. Walter Northcott.”</p><p>Lederer’s eyes were sliding slowly from his client to the cop and back again.  “And you have proof that my client was involved in these murders?” he asked smoothly, unflustered.</p><p>Both detectives knew that Lederer hadn’t had time to talk to his client about the reason for the arrest; and they knew without a doubt that Turnbull realized exactly what he was being arrested for when they had taken him into custody.  </p><p>With a faintly smug smile, Mike reached for the file folder and pulled it closer, completely in his element.  He nodded vaguely at the lawyer.  “Mr. Lederer, if you will allow me, my partner and I will explain.”  He opened the folder, then glanced up at Steve, who was still standing beside the table.  </p><p>With a knowing nod, Steve took three upside down 8x10 colour photographs off the top of the stack of papers and, turning them over, laid them out on the side of the table in front of Turnbull and Lederer.  They were very graphic crime scene photos.  As he put each one down, he identified them.  “Charles Goodman… Jane Goodman… Robbie Goodman.  He was eighteen months old.”</p><p>Mike was watching the two men closely.  Turnbull had no reaction, as they had expected, but Lederer visibly paled.  He opened his mouth slightly to take a sharp, unsteady breath, continuing to stare at the photo of Robbie Goodman as he tried to pull himself together.</p><p>Eventually Lederer’s head came up and he looked at Mike.  “Like I said, you have proof that my client had something to do with these murders?”</p><p>The veteran detective smiled again.  “Oh yeah.”  He nodded at Steve, who crossed behind to take a seat beside him, then picked up a stack of papers and laid three of them out on the table facing away.  Done, he pointed at them.  “These are the autopsy reports and, as you can see,” he indicated the appropriate places, “all three members of the Goodman family died as the result of being shot with a .22 calibre bullet, all of them from the same gun.”</p><p>He glanced up at Lederer and his client and flashed a cold smile before he set another piece of paper on top of the middle report.  “This is the ballistics report on a .22 calibre Colt Buntline Revolver that came into our possession two days ago, thanks to a… friend of your close associate Mr. Eugene Hayes.”  He stared pointedly at Turnbull.  </p><p>For the first time, Turnbull reacted; his head went back slightly and he blinked.  To the two detectives, it was as if he had stood on the chair and yelled ‘I did it!’.</p><p>Steve reached into the pocket of the file and slipped out three colour 5x7’s and laid them on the other side of the table.  “This is Eugene Hayes,” Steve said conversationally to the attorney, pointing at the self-confessed child killer standing beside his client in each of the photos.  It was clear that they went back several years.</p><p>“Mr. Hayes’s fingerprints were all over the Colt,” Mike continued the narrative calmly, picking up the fingerprint report and putting it down in front of Turnbull, “and he even told this… friend of his that the gun had been used to, and I quote, ‘kill some people in San Francisco’.”</p><p>“Hearsay,” Lederer said quickly and both detectives looked at him with slight smiles but declining to respond.  “And this is all very interesting and, yes, it seems that this… this Hayes person was the one responsible for killing these three people, but other than my client posing for several photos with Mr. Hayes,” he shrugged with artificial bewilderment, “I have no idea how you can tie my client to anything that happened to the Goodman family.”</p><p>Mike smiled calculatingly.  “You know, we knew you were going to say that.”  He took several stapled pages out of the file and placed them on the table between Turnbull and Lederer so they both could see what it was.  “Inspector Keller and I spent several hours quite recently in Mr. Hayes’ company.  He, ah, he was very forthcoming when it came to what transpired the night the Goodman family was massacred.”  He paused for a beat to let the weight of that word sink in.  “He was very honest with us.  He confessed that he did indeed kill everyone that night, including the baby asleep in his crib, but that he wasn’t alone, nor was it his idea to wipe out the Goodman family in the first place.”</p><p>With his eyes burning a hole in the top of Turnbull’s downturned head, Mike continued, reaching out and deliberately placing his right forefinger on the papers he had just laid down.  “That, gentlemen, is a transcript of the confession that Mr. Hayes wrote out and signed for us, implicating you, Mr. Turnbull, in the murder-for-hire plot to eliminate the Goodman family.”  Turnbull looked up, his eyes slightly wider than normal, the colour draining from his face.  “I suggest you both read it.”  His own face now an angry mask, Mike sat back in the chair and folded his arms.</p><p>Both heads turned down, hovering over the transcript as they began to read.</p><p>Mike looked at his partner and smiled.  They had considered making two copies but had decided on only one so it would make both lawyer and client uncomfortable and slightly resentful.  When Lederer seemed to get to the bottom of the first page before Turnbull, his irritation at having to wait before the page could be turned was subtle but noticeable.</p><p>It took a little more than five minutes for both of them to finish the report.  They straightened up, Lederer’s face unreadable, Turnbull’s quietly furious.</p><p>The detectives waited silently.</p><p>Finally Lederer, after glancing at his client, cleared his throat.  “This Hayes fellow, he’s in custody I take it.  His first offence?”</p><p>“Actually, no,” Mike shook his head with a slight, unconcerned shrug.  He knew Lederer would find out about Hayes’s record so there was no point in lying.  “He’s served time for manslaughter and he was under arrest for aggravated assault when we interviewed him.  That doesn’t make him a liar.”</p><p>“But it doesn’t make him a pillar of truth either, does it?” the lawyer shot back.</p><p>“I’m willing to let a jury make that judgment.  Are you?”</p><p>Lederer pursed his lips.  “You mentioned something about the death penalty…?”</p><p>Mike nodded.  “The D.A. has agreed with us that the death penalty is definitely on the table.  At the very least, the murders were premeditated.  And though your client didn’t pull the trigger, as you both know,” he included Turnbull in his cold smile, “that doesn’t make any difference in a murder case… your client is just as guilty.  And in case you haven’t notice, Mr. Turnbull, what we have here would be considered an open-and-shut case.”</p><p>The lawyer fell silent for a few long seconds then glanced at Turnbull, who was staring sullenly at the tabletop.  “I would like to have a few minutes alone with my client, Lieutenant Stone.”</p><p>Mike nodded once and started to get to his feet, pushing himself up with a hand on the table and an almost inaudible groan.  It wasn’t as smooth as he had hoped but he did manage to conceal his discomfort from everyone except his partner.  Without a word, he led Steve out of the room and back to his office.</p><p>He slumped in his chair as Steve dropped into the guest chair.  The younger man frowned slightly.  “How are you doing?”</p><p>Mike raised his eyebrows.  “Not as bad as I thought I’d feel but I definitely started to stiffen up just sitting there.”  He rotated his head from side to side, one hand on the back of his neck.  </p><p>“So what do you think?”</p><p>“About Turnbull?”  He shrugged.  “Well, he knows we’ve got him dead to rights… but giving up Northcott…?  I don’t know.”</p><p>Steve grimaced slightly.  “I know you don’t want to do it… and neither do I, of course… but he just might flip on Northcott if we take the death penalty off the table…”</p><p>Mike looked at him with a frustrated frown.  “I know…” he said softly.  “But letting him get away with life… I just don’t know about that.  I’ve never been a big advocate of the death penalty, Steve, but there are just some crimes…”  He looked down and took a deep breath.  “As far as I’m concerned, if there ever was a reason for the death penalty then this is it.”</p><p>Steve was nodding slowly.  “Well, life without parole… He’ll be paying for it every day till he dies behind bars…”</p><p>Mike smiled grimly, still looking down.  “That’s one consolation, I guess.”</p><p>There was a brief silence.  “Well, Gerry did say he’d leave that decision up to you…”</p><p>“Yeah…”</p><p>After a long beat, Steve straightened up, starting to get to his feet.  “You want a coffee?”</p><p>He was halfway to the coffee station before Mike looked up.  “Ah, yeah, sure… thanks.”</p><p># # # # #</p><p>They had drunk their coffees mostly in silence and had both finished before Lederer opened the interrogation room door and left it open while he returned to his chair.  It was the not-so-subtle sign that they were ready to begin again.“Round two,” Mike murmured to his partner as they crossed the bullpen and re-entered the small, glass-walled room.</p><p>The yellow legal pad in front of Lederer was filled with notations, they noticed immediately, and Turnbull looked even more beleaguered than when they’d left, both good signs.</p><p>The detectives sat in their respective chairs and waited.  It would be up to the lawyer to make the first move.</p><p>Lederer picked up his gold pen and took a deep breath.  “Firstly, Mr. Turnbull disputes everything that Eugene Hayes has written in his confession -“</p><p>“Again, we’ll let the jury decide that,” Mike interrupted smoothly.</p><p>“However,” Lederer continued with an annoyed sigh, “he would like to hear what you would need from him in order to get the death penalty removed from consideration.”</p><p>Mike’s eyes slid slowly from the lawyer to the his client.  Turnbull was still looking down but hanging on every word.  </p><p>The veteran detective waited several seconds before he leaned forward slightly, his impassive expression unchanging.  “I want him to tell us what role Walter Northcott played in the murders of his sister, his brother-in-law and his nephew.”</p><p>Lederer stared at the lieutenant for a long beat before he leaned close to his client and whispered in his ear.  Turnbull listened but didn’t move for a few long beats then he raised his head almost imperceptibly.  “He set it all it up.”</p><p>Though there was no outward sign, both detectives felt their hearts begin to pound.  It was Mike who moved first, leaning forward to put both forearms against the edge of the table.  “How?”</p><p>Turnbull raised his head and stared into the lieutenant’s eyes then he snorted.  “The death penalty is gone?”</p><p>Mike nodded once slowly.  “If what you’re about to tell us checks out.”</p><p>Turnbull looked at his lawyer.  Lederer, who had been staring at Mike, looked at his client and nodded.  Closing his eyes momentarily and inhaling deeply, Turnbull turned back to face the detectives, looking from one to the other.  “It was all about the money.  And it didn’t start the night the Goodmans were killed, you know.  This plot of his?  It started four years ago.  In Los Angeles…”  He closed his eyes again and took another deep breath.  When he opened his eyes, he stared straight at Mike.  “… when he paid someone to kill his own mother.”</p>
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<a name="section0058"><h2>58. Chapter 58</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The two detectives froze.  Lederer, with a quick glance at Turnbull, leaned forward slightly.  “Before my client continues, we have your word that, as you already said, if what he is about to tell you turns out to be truthful, he will be charged with three counts of first degree murder and, upon a guilty plea, he will be sentenced to life without the possibility of parole, and no death penalty?”</p><p>Mike’s hard stare slid from Turnbull, who was looking at him calmly, to Lederer.  “You have my word.”</p><p>The lawyer nodded his confirmation then turned to his client.  “Go ahead.”</p><p>Turnbull hesitated for a beat, staring at the older detective, then took a deep breath.  “Walter Northcott is a friend of mine…  He’s my best friend and he has been for a long time.  But he’s a very flawed human being, Lieutenant.”  Turnbull snorted wryly, and for the first time they saw him smile; it was cold and almost inhuman.  “So am I.  Maybe that’s why we’ve always hung around together.  I’m probably the only person he’s ever liked.”</p><p>“So you’re saying he never loved his family, never loved his wife?” Steve asked, glancing at his partner, who was staring at Turnbull with well-hidden loathing.</p><p>With a snort of disgust, which they weren’t sure was for the question or the cop, Turnbull shook his head in annoyance.  “Walt’s never loved anybody… except himself, I guess.  Not his mother or his father… or his sister.  Not even his wife.  But he can hide it, his disgust… he can hide it really well.”  He looked from one cop to the other, as if pleased the effect his words were having.</p><p>“How was Eileen Northcott killed?” Mike asked suddenly and Turnbull’s eyes snapped to him, his grin disappearing.  He stared at the veteran detective for a long second before he started to smile again.</p><p>“So you know about her already,” he stated flatly, nodding with a smirk.  “I’m impressed.  You do your homework.”</p><p>“It’s our job.”</p><p>“My hat’s off to you -“</p><p>“How was she killed?!” Mike snapped, and Steve tensed slightly.</p><p>Turnbull’s head went back slightly and his sarcastic grin faltered momentarily.  “Well, you might want to go back and talk to Gene Hayes about that.  He was the one who killed her.”  The smirk got a little wider.</p><p>“How?” Mike asked quietly but there was a tinge of menace in his tone.</p><p>“Well, I’m not sure of the exact details but I know he strangled her and then staged it to look like a suicide.”  He looked from Mike to Steve, shrugging.  “Now that part was important, he said, Walt said.  ‘Cause his mother had a history of, you know, mental problems and so suicide wouldn’t be… well, outside the realm of possibility, is how he put it.”  He shrugged again.  “I think Gene said something about wrapping a nylon stocking around her neck and tying it to a doorknob… but I could be wrong.”</p><p>Steve glanced at his frighteningly still partner again; they both knew Turnbull wasn’t wrong.</p><p>Suddenly the soon to be convicted felon laughed; even Lederer frowned.  “Man, Walt couldn’t believe it when the coroner in L.A. signed off on it being a suicide.  It was a gift, you know…”</p><p>“Why did he want her dead?” Mike asked evenly.</p><p>“Well, the Northcott family had deep pockets, she was a widow, Walt needed the money…”  Turnbull shrugged.  “It was split between him and his sister, but he got a nice chunk.  He went through it pretty fast though…”</p><p>Steve shook his head slightly.  “So, what, when he starting running out of money, he wanted what his sister had?”</p><p>Turnbull bobbled his head with a grimace.  “Yeah, that was part of it, I guess.  Most of it, I guess.  You see, Jane married into money too when she married Charles, but they were both pretty careful with it.  They lived well but within their means, I guess you could say.  And they had lots squirrelled away for the kid… and that company he had, that was worth a ton, so… Walt figured that even if he had to split the inheritance with Goodman’s side of the family, he was still getting a pretty big payday.”</p><p>“That’s how he thought of it, the murder of a baby?” Mike asked softly.  “A payday?”</p><p>Turnbull looked at the veteran detective and his smirk disappeared.  There was a tense beat then he said almost softly, “We really didn’t want to kill the kid, but Walt wouldn’t’ve inherited if the kid was still alive.”  When Mike continue to stare, he lowered his head.</p><p>For the first time since he had sat down, Mike leaned forward.  “Get the kid,” he said quietly and Turnbull’s head came up.  “That’s what you said to Eugene Hayes, wasn’t it?  ‘Get the kid’.”</p><p>Turnbull swallowed heavily.  “I don’t remember what I said -“</p><p>“That’s what you said,” Mike interrupted.  “That’s exactly what you said.”  After letting his words sink in for several long tense seconds, he asked, “What happened the night you uttered those words?  Walk us through it, step by step.  And don’t leave anything out.”</p><p>Still staring at the floor, Turnbull took a deep breath then nodded.  “Where do you want me to start?”</p><p>“Why that night?  Why did you choose that night in particular.”</p><p>Turnbull raised his head and shifted in the chair, repositioning his broken wrist with a slight wince.  “The party,” he said simply.</p><p>Both detectives frowned.  “What party?” Steve asked.</p><p>“The block party.  Walt had been around to see Jane and her husband a few days before and he’d seen the flyers on the telephone poles.  There was going to be a block party a street over… with fireworks.  He said it would be a great cover.  He was right.”</p><p>“So what happened that night?” Steve continued the questioning.</p><p>“Well, Gene and I got there about an hour before we actually went to the house.  We parked a couple of blocks away so no one would see a suspicious car anywhere near the Goodman house.  We wanted to find out when the fireworks were gonna go off so we walked over to where the party was… you know, pretending to live in the neighborhood, and asked.  It was that simple.  They told us they thought about 9ish, so we headed over to the house.”</p><p>“And the Goodmans let you in?”</p><p>Turnbull nodded.  “Jane did, yeah.  She’s knows me, I’m a friend of Walt’s.  We’ve met a number of times over the years so they had no qualms about letting me in the house.  And, like Gene said, we told them we were there to get some financial advice from Charlie.  He was a decent guy, Charlie, and he was willing to help.  Poor bastard…”  For a split second, Turnbull actually seemed to show compassion.</p><p>It didn’t last long.  “Anyway, ah, Jane mentioned that she’d just got off the phone with her brother.  Walt had called about a half hour before we got there… it was his way of setting up an alibi.  And it worked, didn’t it?  Even Linda believed he had nothing to do with the murders.”</p><p>“She does now,” Mike interjected coldly and Turnbull froze.</p><p>He shrugged.  “Well, you win some…”</p><p>Steve watched his partner’s jaw muscles tighten even though his face remained impassive.</p><p>“Anyway, ah, the rest of the night went just as Gene said.”  He nodded at the confession on the table in front of him.  “You don’t need me to go over all the gory details, do you?”</p><p>Mike shook his head slowly.</p><p>“Oh, ah, the fireworks?  They started about five minutes after we got to the house.  That’s when I signalled Gene to start… you know…”</p><p>A depressing silence filled the room for several long seconds; the detectives continued to stare at the man who had just admitted to participating in the murder of three innocent people.  The lawyer was staring unfocused at the pad on the table in front of him.</p><p>“Oh, ah, Walt told me about your phone call to him the next morning, Lieutenant, when he was in his office for that meeting…. Well, ah, yeah, he did have a meeting that morning, like he told you, but he also went in so he could start the paperwork on Charlie’s insurance policy.”</p><p>Lederer exhaled loudly and the others looked in his direction.  Almost reluctantly, his eyes met Mike’s.  “Are you satisfied, Lieutenant?  Has he given you enough?”</p><p>The older cop’s eyes remained on Turnbull.  “Not quite.  I need him to do one more thing.”</p><p>Client and lawyer exchanged a confused look.</p><p>Mike leaned over the table.  “I need you to make a phone call, Mr. Turnbull.”</p><p># # # # #</p><p>The sun had long ago slipped below the horizon when Steve got up from his desk and approached the inner office.  He stopped at the door, staring with concern at it’s occupant.  Mike had been sitting quietly in his chair for a long time.  He was leaning back, his arms crossed and his chin on his chest, but Steve knew he wasn’t sleeping.  The younger man rapped lightly on the door and watched his partner’s head come up slowly, his eyebrows raised.  “It’s all done.”</p><p>“All of it?” Mike asked with a smile as he leaned forward, resting his forearms on the desk and trying not to wince.</p><p>“The whole megillah, as they say,” Steve chuckled as he moved deeper into the room.  He glanced quickly in the direction of the interrogation room where Turnbull and Lederer were still working on the written statement.  A uniformed officer was standing just outside the interrogation room door.  “They’re almost finished then Turnbull will be taken down to booking.”</p><p>Mike snorted softly.  “I’m still surprised he agreed to the phone call so quickly.”</p><p>“Well, you really didn’t give him much of a choice, did you?”</p><p>“I didn’t?”  The older man looked amusedly perplexed.  “Yeah, you’re right, I didn’t,” he chuckled.  “Do you think Northcott believed him?”</p><p>They had instructed Turnbull to phone Walter Northcott to let him know he wouldn’t be going home, that he had decided to spend the night with the woman he had spent the day with, after assuring them that Northcott and the woman were not acquainted.  Turnbull’s side of the conversation sounded good to them; they could only hope that he and Northcott did not have any ‘code words’ that had been imparted.</p><p>“Well, Ryan and Grabowski just relieved Norm and Dan for the night and, according to everybody, Northcott is at home and has so far shown no signs of cutting and running.”</p><p>“Fingers crossed…”</p><p>“Yeah, fingers crossed.  Anyway, everything is set up for tomorrow morning.  I got in touch with Gerry and he’s going to sign the Northcott arrest warrant tonight - I’ve sent Jack Wiley over to Gerry’s house and it’ll be on my desk tomorrow morning.  And two patrol units are meeting up with you and me and Dan and Norm here tomorrow morning at 5:30 so we can be knocking on Northcott’s door at 6.”  He smiled.  “Have I missed anything?”</p><p>Mike snorted with proud amusement.  “I can’t think of a thing… but maybe I’m just too god-damn stiff and sore.”</p><p>Steve’s smile turned to affectionate concern.  He took the fedora and jacket off the coat rack.  “Come on, let’s get you home.  I think you need to get horizontal for a few hours.”</p><p>As he got very slowly and carefully to his feet, Mike shrugged slightly with an ironic chuckle.  “That’s what I’m afraid of… that I’ll get horizontal and won’t be able to get vertical again.”  He shuffled slowly towards the door, taking his hat from Steve’s outstretched hand and plopping it on his head then turning so his partner could help him into the coat.</p><p>“That’s why they gave you that bottle of Tylenol.”</p><p>They both chuckled.  Steve moved to his desk and grabbed the jacket on the back of his chair.  As he slipped into it, the interrogation room door opened and Lederer stepped out; the patrolman entered the room behind him, closing the door.</p><p>The lawyer crossed the bullpen, holding out the yellow legal pad and handing it to Mike.  “That’s his full statement.  I’ve gone over it with him twice.  I know it’s late, so I’m willing to come back in tomorrow if you need anything changed or elaborated in it.”</p><p>“Thank you,” Mike answered sincerely.</p><p>“Listen, ah,” Lederer said quietly as Steve joined them, glancing quickly over his shoulder at Turnbull, who the patrolman had just gotten to his feet.  The lawyer exhaled loudly.  “I, ah, I know I shouldn’t say this, but I’m glad you guys got him to roll.  I had no idea what he was charged with when he called me today.”  He looked at Mike with admiration.  “You’ve done a hell of a job with this case, Lieutenant, and I’m really glad I don’t have to represent him at trial… because I wouldn’t have done it.  Mr. Turnbull is a despicable human being… and he deserves to rot in prison for the rest of his life.”</p>
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<a name="section0059"><h2>59. Chapter 59</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Steve looked across the front seat.  In the intermittent glow from the streetlights they were driving under, he could see Mike’s head down and his eyes closed under the brim of the fedora.  He stepped on the gas a little harder.</p><p>Feeling the car speed up, the older man raised his head and smiled slightly.  He knew what was going on.  “So, ah, Turnbull’s lawyer really surprised me by what he said.  You?”</p><p>The younger man smiled to himself; he knew Mike was trying to deflect his attention.  “Yeah, he did.  I don’t think I’ve met all that many honest lawyers before.”</p><p>“Yeah… geez, it must be hard to try to defend someone you know is guilty.  Especially for something as heinous as this.  I’m glad we just get to arrest them.  That’s good enough for me.”</p><p>The car turned onto De Haro and Steve looked for a parking space; he spotted one close to the house and pulled in.  As he shifted into Park and turned the key, he looked across the front seat again.  “Are you ready for this?”</p><p>Mike looked at him with an amused frown.  “What?  Getting out of the car and walking up all those stairs or the possibility we might encounter my daughter?”</p><p>Steve chuckled.  “Both.”  </p><p>He got out of the car quickly and was around to the other side as Mike was opening the large and heavy door.  The older man turned gingerly in the seat and put both feet on the pavement.  He took his partner’s extended hand and, holding his breath, got slowly to his feet, his face etched in pain.</p><p>“Getting worse?” the younger man asked worriedly.</p><p>Mike nodded, his eyes closed.  “Yeah…”</p><p>“Come on, let’s get you inside.”  His hand on his partner’s elbow, they started slowly across the street.  “Where does it hurt the most?”</p><p>“My right knee, my back, my left shoulder… and my butt,” he finished with a soft chuckle.  “I think those are the parts that connected with the stairs.”</p><p>“I’m not surprised,” Steve sympathized.  “You did go ass over teakettle a couple of times.”</p><p>Mike stopped and turned slowly, waiting a pregnant beat before saying quietly, “You know you’re talking about your superior officer, right?”</p><p>Chuckling, Steve started to walk again, pulling Mike along gently.  The older man began to laugh softly with a slight, cartoonish groan.</p><p>“Yeah yeah,” Steve muttered as they got to the first step and he softly pushed the older man ahead of him.</p><p>Mike looked up the steep staircase and exhaled loudly.  “Here goes…”</p><p>It took longer than normal to get to the front door and Steve already had his key out.  A lamp in the living room was on but otherwise the room was empty.  They looked at each other and exhaled loudly in relief; neither of them wanted to confront Jeannie anytime soon.</p><p>There was a pillow and a couple of blankets laid out on the couch.  Steve nodded towards the stairs.  “Come on, let’s get you to bed.”</p><p>Mike rolled his eyes in fake irritation.  “Oh god, another flight of stairs.”  Chuckling softly, he headed up, Steve right behind him.  When they stepped into the master bedroom, he closed the door.</p><p>As he started to pull off his already loosened tie, Mike turned to his partner.  “I’m quite capable of going to bed by myself, you know,” he said lightly, taking off the fedora and tossing it on the chair.</p><p>“I know,” Steve chuckled, “I just want to make sure you’re okay.”  He had taken a pair of pajamas out of the top drawer of the dresser and laid them on the bed before helping the older man get out of his jacket.  “Can you raise your arms over your head?”</p><p>Mike looked at him with a frown then started to lift his arms.  He yelped with pain, grabbing his left shoulder as he dropped his arm. </p><p>“I thought so,” Steve mumbled, taking a step closer.  “Here, let me help.”  He undid the buttons on Mike’s shirt and slipped it off then helped pull the t-shirt over his head.  Mike had his eyes closed and his teeth gritted.</p><p>“The bruise is coming out on your shoulder,” the younger man said as he put the shirt and t-shirt on the arm of the chair.  “Turn around.”  Mike did so.  “And your back.”  He took a step away and looked at his partner with relief.  “You’re really lucky you didn’t break anything.”</p><p>Mike raised his eyebrows.  “I know.”  He smiled.  “Listen, ah, I appreciate the help, but I can take it from here.”</p><p>“You sure?” Steve asked, a lightness in his tone.</p><p>“I’m sure.”  The appreciation and affection in Mike’s voice was obvious.</p><p>“All right.”  The younger man headed for the door.  “So, ah, I’ll set my alarm so you don’t have to.  And I’ll wake you at 4:45 so we have time to get to the Hall for 5:30, all right?”</p><p>Mike looked at him with raised eyebrows.  “Right,” he exhaled with a definite lack of enthusiasm.</p><p>Steve smiled.  “Try to get some sleep, okay?  And don’t forget to take another Tylenol.”</p><p>The older man chuckled.  “Don’t worry, I won’t.”  As his partner turned to leave the room, he stopped him.  “Hey, Steve… thanks.”</p><p>The resulting smile was warm and sweet.  “You’re welcome.”  He winked.  “Get some sleep.”</p><p># # # # #</p><p>The tiny, tinny beep from his watch was loud enough to wake him.  He really wasn’t in a deep sleep, there was too much going through his mind.  He opened his eyes onto a very dark room, and very unwilling to get up.  But he knew he had to.  He had no idea how long it would take to get Mike up, dressed and out the door.</p><p>That was usually not a problem; the older man was always an early riser and, even more annoyingly, a morning person.  But today was going to be a very different story.</p><p>He got up quickly and turned on the small table lamp beside the armchair.  He had slept in a t-shirt and boxer shorts and it took no time at all to throw on his pants and shirt before he tiptoed, barefoot, to the second floor and entered the master bedroom.</p><p>In the dim light bouncing up the stairs, he could see Mike lying on his back, his eyes closed.  Hoping the older man had gotten at least some sleep, he closed the door, crossed quietly to the bed and turned on the lamp before laying a hand on his partner’s upper arm and shaking him gently.</p><p>Mike’s head moved slightly and he moaned softly, not in pain but in reluctance to wake.  Steve shook him a little harder and the blue eyes shot open then winced in pain.  “Owww,” he groaned, focusing slowly on the face silhouetted above him.  “Is it morning already?” he asked in disbelief and the younger man frowned and nodded.</p><p>“‘Fraid so.  Come on, we’ve gotta get going.  You going to be able to get up, do you think?”</p><p>Mike raised his eyebrows.  “I don’t know…” </p><p>“You want a hand?”</p><p>“Let’s just see how far I can get on my own.”  He slid his elbows up so he could brace himself then pushed against the bed, raising his shoulders.   He caught his breath, mouthing a silent “Owww” then leaned to his right, taking the weight off his bruised left shoulder.  After a beat, he pushed himself up with his right hand, dropping his lower legs over the edge of the bed with a slightly more audible “Owww”.</p><p>“Good job,” Steve chuckled.  “Just sit there and I’ll get your clothes.”</p><p># # # # #</p><p>They managed to get out of the house without disturbing Jeannie, which was a minor miracle Steve thought, considering how many times Mike had groaned and moaned.  He was in the car and had it started before the older man had made it to the bottom step and he swung the car around for a curbside pickup.  Mike fell onto the front seat with a relieved though pain-filled sigh mixed with a low chuckle.</p><p>Steve grinned across the front seat as he gunned the car away from the curb.  “Well done, Frank,” he chortled.</p><p>Slowly, Mike’s head turned towards him with a confused frown.  “Frank?”</p><p>“-enstein.  You really did look like him coming down those stairs, all stiff-limbed.”  He made a sound like The Tin Man walking, rocking slightly side to side.</p><p>“Just so you know, smart ass, Frankenstein was the doctor, not the monster.  So if I’m Frankenstein, that must make you the monster.”</p><p>Steve bobbled his head with a facial shrug.  “You’re pretty sharp for this early in the morning.”</p><p>“I’m sharp every morning,” Mike said with mock gravity then started to laugh.  His partner joined in.</p><p># # # # # </p><p>Healey and Haseejian were waiting in the bullpen when Steve led the way through the door.</p><p>“Jeez, boss, you okay?” Haseejian asked when he got a good look at the slow moving lieutenant.</p><p>Steve glanced over his shoulder, trying to suppress a grin.  “It’s only day two.  He’s a little stiff.”</p><p>“He’s lucky he’s not laid up in the hospital,” Healey responded earnestly in his boss’s defence.</p><p>“Kiss ass,” Haseejian muttered under his breath as Mike leaned carefully against Steve’s desk.  Everybody heard him and everybody laughed.</p><p>“Okay, is everything ready?” Mike asked, still chuckling.</p><p>Steve had crossed behind his desk and picked up a file folder.  He opened it and scanned the pages quickly.  “We got both warrants - one for arrest and one for searching.” </p><p>“The two units are waiting for us in the garage,” Healey offered, “and Grabowski called in about ten minutes ago - the Northcott house is still quiet and, as far as everybody knows, he’s still there.”</p><p>Mike pushed himself up from the desk.  “Okay, fellas, good work.”  He took a deep breath, trying not to show any sign of the discomfort he was in but the others knew better.  “Listen, ah, I’m not a hundred percent today, as everybody can tell,” he chuckled softly, “and as much as I want to nail Northcott, I don’t want to be a liability.  So,” he turned carefully to look at his partner, “Steve is going to be in charge this morning.  Nobody does anything without his say-so.  Is that clear?”</p><p>Steve was staring at him, slightly in shock.  He really wasn’t expecting what he had just heard, especially knowing how much Mike had personally invested in this case.</p><p>The older man smiled softly.  “I just ask one favour from you, that’s all.  I want to be the one to slap the cuffs on Northcott, okay?”</p><p>The others chuckled.  “That’s more than okay by me,” Steve said with a warm smile.</p><p>“All right.”  Mike clapped his hands as best he could.  “Okay, fellas, let’s do this.  Let’s put a child-killer behind bars.”</p><p>As they headed towards the bullpen door, Steve slid up beside his partner and patted him on the back as Haseejian held the door for them to exit.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>The small procession drove slowly up the street.  There was one empty space at the curb on the long block but it was too far from the house.  The brown LTD, forest green Galaxie and two black-and-whites stopped in the middle of the street a few houses down from but within eyeshot of the house they wanted; at that hour of the morning, there was no traffic, not that it mattered.</p><p>The doors opened and the eight San Francisco police officers got out, congregating near the front of the LTD.  Mike leaned against the fender and looked pointedly at his partner.</p><p>Steve looked at the others and cleared his throat quickly.  “Okay, ah, we’re gonna go by the book on this one, fellas.  We have to make sure we do nothing that will get this thrown out in court so we treat Walter Northcott with kid gloves, all right?”</p><p>There were nods all around.  </p><p>“We have warrants for both arrest and search so we’re going to knock, and if he doesn’t answer right away,” he reached into his pants pocket, looking at Mike and smiling, “we have this.”  He raised his hand; there was a brass key between his fingers.</p><p>Haseejian frowned.  “Is that a house key?”</p><p>Steve nodded.  “Turnbull gave it to us… after a little… persuading…”  He glanced at Mike again; the older man looked down, folding his arms.</p><p>“After that,” Steve continued, “you know the drill.  I want you, you and you,” he pointed at three of the uniformed officers, “covering the house.  You,” he pointed at the fourth, “will come with us.”  He looked at them all individually and they nodded.  “Okay, let’s go.”  He looked at Mike and raised his eyebrows.</p><p>“I’ll wait here till you get into the house,” the lieutenant said softly.  “Good luck.”  He watched as they started away.  Three of the uniformed officers fanned out, one going to the back of the house and one on each side as the remaining four approached the portico; all four had their hands on the grips of their guns in their unsnapped holsters.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0060"><h2>60. Chapter 60</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Standing on the landing, the three detectives and one patrolman waited until the other officers had time to get into place around the house.  As he raised one hand to knock, Steve, the search and arrest warrants in the other, glanced over his shoulder.  “Oh, by the way, Turnbull assured us they don’t have a dog.”  With a chuckle shared by the others, he knocked on the door.  </p><p>From where he was leaning against the front fender of the LTD, Mike could barely hear it.  He knew it should have been loud enough to wake the neighbourhood but because they had the search warrant, and the key, a quiet entry was what they really wanted.  To be able to take Northcott into custody while he was still asleep in his bed would be the best case scenario.</p><p>Steve knocked again, this time shouting quietly.  “SFPD! Open up!”  He looked at Haseejian standing behind his right shoulder and the Armenian sergeant swallowed a smile.</p><p>Healey cleared his throat demonstrably.  “I, ah, I guess we’ll have to use the key, Inspector.”</p><p>“Yes, I think we have to,” Steve responded, deliberately enunciating every word, the charade obvious to them all.  He folded the warrants and stuffed them into his inside jacket pocket.</p><p>Haseejian looked at the patrolman standing behind him, glancing at the nameplate pinned to the dark blue shirt.  “Ah, well, they can’t say we didn’t try to wake him before we entered the premises, now can they, Crawley?”</p><p>The tall young blond patrolman looked at the sergeant and a slight smile curled his lips.  “No, sir, they certainly can’t.”</p><p>Healey chuckled softly as Steve took the key out of his pocket and slipped it into the lock.  It turned smoothly and they heard the tumblers clicking over.  Steve turned the knob and the latch disengaged; he pushed the door open onto a large, dark foyer.  There was a hallway straight in front to the right, a staircase leading up to the second floor ahead on the left.  To their immediate right was a pair of closed French doors; to their left a plain white door that was also closed.</p><p>Putting a finger to his lips and slipping the .38 off his left hip, Steve stepped over the threshold.   He took a flashlight out of his jacket pocket and snapped it on.  The others did the same, entering close behind, all with their guns at the ready as well.  Steve motioned Haseejian right, Healey left and Crawley with him as he started slowly and silently down the hallway in front of them.</p><p>As he moved carefully but assuredly towards what he assumed would be the kitchen, he could hear the doors quietly opening behind him.  With Crawley on his heels, he stepped into the large, very modern kitchen.  It was dark but the glow in the sky from the rising sun through the many windows was enough to get a pretty good look.  He crossed to the centre of the room, between the large table and the island, lowering his gun.</p><p>There was a pot on the stove and one on the island, as well as the remains of what looked like a roast of beef on a cutting board, a electric carving knife lying beside it.</p><p>Steve crossed to the stove and, after groping around in the dark for a couple of seconds, snapped on the range hood light.  As he moved back to the table, Healey and Haseejian walked quietly into the kitchen, both shaking their heads.</p><p> </p><p>Haseejian, who had moved left in the large kitchen, signalled the others with a quick hiss and they looked over.  He was nodding towards a pair of closed doors that common sense told them more than likely led to the dining room.  As they gathered behind him, he quietly turned the knob and opened one of the doors.</p><p>If nothing else, Steve thought to himself, Northcott had good taste in furnishings.  The large dining room was sleek, modern and, at the moment, messy with the detritus of a recently consumed meal.  There were two dirty plates with cutlery and crumpled cloth napkins sitting on black woven placemats on the table, along with a couple of serving dishes, an empty bottle of red wine, and two wine glasses.</p><p>Steve picked up one of the wine glasses and brought it close to his face, shining the flashlight on it as he turned it.  He looked at the others.  “Lipstick,” he whispered and they nodded.</p><p>Haseejian exhaled heavily.  They all were now aware that a new wrinkle had just been added.  The odds were more than even that the lady in question was still in the house and most likely in Northcott’s bed.  He leaned closer to Healey.  “How the hell did she get in?  We’ve been watching the place,” he whispered.</p><p>Healey shrugged.  “Maybe she’s been here for awhile… I mean, he’s a free man now, right?”</p><p>Steve led them back into the kitchen then into the hall.  Moving as one, the four cops started slowly and silently back down the hallway to the staircase.  Luckily, it was carpeted, making their assent a lot quieter than hardwood steps would have allowed.</p><p>His gun and flashlight in front of his face, Steve started up, his head swivelling quickly when he crested the second floor level and could see the layout.  There were four doors, all of them closed.  When all four cops had made it up the stairs, he nodded for Healey and Haseejian to take the two doors at the far end of the landing while he and Crawley would take the other two.</p><p>Splitting up, each team approached their first door.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>His heart in his throat, Mike had watched as his colleagues disappeared into the large, two-storey house.  Every sense was on full alert as he listened for any clue as to what was going on in the Northcott residence.  But all he heard was silence, which was, he admitted to himself, a good sign.</p><p>He knew Turnbull had told them that neither he nor Northcott had a gun in the house but that assurance did nothing to alley any fears that Northcott, once cornered, wouldn’t do anything to prevent himself from being taken into custody.  And he knew that his men, and especially Steve, would be reluctant to use deadly force to take a suspect down.</p><p>He dropped his head and mumbled a curse, mad at himself for, in effect, taking himself out of the game by trying to prevent Turnbull from escaping.  He was definitely paying a price for his foolhardy act.  It felt like every muscle and sinew in his body was screaming this morning.</p><p>He looked back at the at the house and sighed.  He knew he had made the right call by not going in with the others; he would’ve been a hindrance to them.  But that didn’t take away the sting.</p><p>Gritting his teeth, he pushed himself up from the fender and started slowly towards the house, waiting for Steve to call him in so he could slap the handcuffs around Northcott’s wrists.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>Turning off their flashlights and pocketing them, Steve and Haseejian approached their first doors; they both stood back as Crawley and Healey put their hands on the knobs and stared at their colleagues.  Steve and Haseejian made eye contact then Steve nodded.  Both doors opened simultaneously, Crawley’s inward, Healey’s outward.  It was a closet.</p><p>Steve’s door opened onto a large bedroom.  He and Crawley charged quietly into the room, the patrolman’s flashlight playing rapidly over the made bed and the walls.  He stepped to the closet and opened it slowly and carefully.  Other than clothes and shoes, there was nothing of concern.</p><p>They joined Healey and Haseejian out on the landing again and, almost as one, they looked at the remaining two doors.  One of them, they knew, would open on the bedroom where Northcott and his girlfriend were hopefully still sleeping.</p><p>Steve signalled that they would open one door at a time and the others nodded in agreement.  His gun out in front of him, he wrapped his left hand around the knob and turned it slowly.  The latch disengaged and he very gingerly pushed the door open.  It was the master bedroom.</p><p>In the dim light bleeding through the pale curtains over the large picture window, they could see the outlines of two people in the bed, fast asleep.  Very slowly, one careful step after the other, grateful once again for the carpeting, Steve moved closer to the head of the bed, his gun trained on the occupants.  Haseejian mirrored the move, circling the bed to the far side, Healey and Crawley stayed near the foot.</p><p>Steve leaned closer; Northcott was on his side.  He looked up at Haseejian, catching his eye and, after a beat, he nodded.  As one, they grabbed the blanket covering the two sleeping people and yanked it down, then tensed with both hands on their revolvers.</p><p>Northcott and the woman jumped, snapping awake; she squealed in fear as she looked up into the barrel of a gun mere inches from her face.  Northcott sat up quickly with a roar to find himself also staring at the business end of a .38 and the pair of angry eyes behind it.  Both of them were naked.</p><p>Shaking in fear, her eyes wide and terrified, she grabbed the blanket to cover herself.</p><p>“What the hell is going on?!” Northcott bellowed, his eyes snapping back and forth between the gun and the face of the man holding it.</p><p>“Walter Northcott, you’re under arrest for the murders of Charles, Jane and Robert Goodman,” Steve stated firmly, not wavering an inch as he stared Northcott down.  “You have the right to remain silent -“</p><p>“What?!  I had nothing to do that,” the former insurance salesman interrupted angrily.  “And you have no right to come in here -“</p><p>Steve had reached into his pocket and taken out the papers.  He waved them in the air.  “We have warrants for arrest and for searching.”</p><p>Blinking quickly, still trying to get his bearings, Northcott grabbed the papers, unfolding them and reading quickly as Steve finished reciting the Miranda warning.  When Northcott didn’t respond, he repeated, “Do you understand?!”</p><p>“Yes, yes,” Northcott growled, still reading the warrants.</p><p>The woman was staring at him, holding the blanket up, her eyes still wide and frightened.  “Is it true?” she asked quietly.</p><p>Northcott turned on her quickly.  “Of course it’s not true -“ he began to yell and all four cops took a step closer to the bed.  He stopped, snapping his mouth shut and turning away from her as he raised the papers into the air.  “Just because you have warrants doesn’t mean I’m guilty,” he snapped.</p><p>“We’ll let the jury decide that,” Steve said, parroting his partner, “when they send you to death row.”</p><p>The woman gasped and Northcott’s eyes widened.</p><p>Steve took a step back.  “Get up.”</p><p>Northcott’s face turned dark.  “I don’t have any clothes on.”</p><p>“I don’t care,” Steve said coldly.  “You have to get up.”</p><p>With a dark, angry growl, Northcott tore the blanket off and got to his feet, glaring at Steve menacingly.  “Do you mind if I put some clothes on?”</p><p>Steve stepped towards the foot of the bed, gesturing at the dresser and the closet.  “Go ahead.”  He took a quick glance around the room.  Between the dresser and the closet was the open door to the en suite bathroom; on the other side of the bed, the woman’s clothes and purse were lying on a large upholstered armchair.</p><p>Northcott took a couple of steps to the dresser and opened the top drawer, taking out underwear and socks, very aware of the .38 pointing at the back of his head.  He slipped the boxers on then took a golf shirt out of a lower drawer.  Steve was following his every move, the gun never leaving its target.  With a glance over his shoulder, Northcott said coldly, “My pants are in the closet.”</p><p>“Get them.”</p><p>Stuffing the shirt and socks under his left arm, Northcott slid the closet door open.  He took a pair of folded blue jeans off a small shelf and turned to face Steve again.  “Satisfied?”</p><p>“Thrilled.  Now put them on.”</p><p>Northcott sighed angrily.  He pointed at the bathroom.  “Do you mind?  I have to pee… and it doesn’t have any windows, I can’t go anywhere.”</p><p>Steve sidled slowly to the bathroom door, sticking his head in and looking around.  As he moved away, he nodded.  “Make it quick.”</p><p>Northcott disappeared angrily into the bathroom and closed the door.  Steve backed slowly past Crawley towards the bedroom door.  He stepped into the hallway and turned his head towards the staircase.  “Mike?!”</p><p>“Yeah?!”</p><p>“We got him.  He’s just putting his clothes on.”</p><p>“Good.”  The relief in the older man’s voice was audible.  “I’ll start up.”</p><p>With a soft smile, Steve re-entered the bedroom and crossed towards the bathroom door.</p><p>The woman, who was staring at Steve with a frown, looked up at Haseejian still looming over her then quickly back to Steve.  “He has a gun in there, you know…”</p><p>Steve’s head spun towards her.  “What?”</p><p>“He has a gun.  It’s in one of the drawers -“</p><p>The cops were already in motion.  Steve took a quick step to the bathroom door and turned the knob.  It was locked.  He pounded on the door with his left hand.  “Northcott!  Northcott!”</p><p>As Crawley came up quickly behind him, Steve reared back and slammed his right foot into the door near the knob.</p><p>Halfway up the stairs, Mike heard his partner yelling Northcott’s name then, all at once, the loud crash of a door being kicked in, the reverberation of a gunshot in an enclosed space and Haseejian screaming “Steve!”.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0061"><h2>61. Chapter 61</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Mike froze, his hand tightening on the railing and his heart starting to pound, as the shouts and sounds of a commotion exploded through the bedroom door.  Ignoring the pain, he vaulted up the rest of the stairs two of a time.  “Steve!  Steve!”  He burst into the bedroom, terrified of what awaited him.  </p><p>“Call an ambulance!” Healey’s bellow cut through what sounded like a struggle and the whimpering of a female voice and Crawley, who had been standing outside the bathroom door with Haseejian, strode quickly across the room to the phone on the far bedside table.</p><p>“Steve!” Mike yelled again, naked fear in his voice.  He barely clocked the crying woman wrapped in a blanket on the bed as he charged across the room towards Haseejian.  The sergeant spun quickly, stepping in front of his boss and putting both hands on the older man’s chest to stop him in his tracks.  </p><p>“He’s okay, Mike, he’s okay.  It wasn’t Steve.”  Haseejian stared into the lieutenant’s frantic blue eyes until they focused on him then he smiled slightly, shaking his head.  “It wasn’t Steve,” he repeated softly.</p><p>Mike nodded almost absent-mindedly.  “Okay, okay,” he breathed, a tiny relieved smile playing over his lips.  Haseejian dropped his hands and nodded reassuringly in return.  Shaking his head, still panting heavily, Mike frowned in confusion and concern.  “What happened?”</p><p>“It’s Northcott,” the sergeant said quietly.  “He shot himself.”</p><p>“How the hell did he do that?  Where did he get the gun?”  </p><p>Haseejian almost smiled to himself; he knew that Mike Stone the homicide lieutenant had replaced Mike Stone the distraught friend and partner.  Haseejian shook his head.  “We’re not sure… he, ah… it seems there was a gun in a drawer in there,” he pointed towards the bathroom, “that we didn’t know about.”  And he knew that was something they would have to answer for later.  “He’s, ah, he’s not dead… He’s still alive…”</p><p>Mike nodded, taking a step closer to the bathroom.  Crawley had finished the phone call and was circling the bed to rejoin them.  Mike saw him coming and pointed at the woman.  “Officer, get her clothes and take her somewhere so she can get dressed, please.  Thank you.”</p><p>“Yes, sir,” Crawley nodded and headed back to the far side of the bed.</p><p>Mike stepped into the bathroom doorway.  Steve was sitting on the blood-covered floor, Healey kneeling beside him.  Northcott, dressed only in a blue golf shirt and boxer shorts, was stretched out on the floor on his back, his head, wrapped in a blood-soaked white towel, cradled in Steve’s lap.  His chest was rising and falling slowly but otherwise he wasn’t moving.  There was an open drawer in the vanity and a Smith &amp; Wesson Model 19 revolver lying on the floor near the bathtub.</p><p>Steve looked up, his anxious and guilt-filled eyes meeting his partner’s still unnerved ones.  “He shot himself in the head.”</p><p>“Okay, okay, okay,” Mike repeated soothingly, taking charge.  “The ambulance is on the way.”<br/>He pointed at the gun.  “Dan, bag that, please.  Norm,” he called over his shoulder, “go back downstairs and get the others to secure the street, then wait for the ambulance.”</p><p>“Yes, sir.”  Haseejian spun on his heel and disappeared out the bedroom door.  </p><p>Mike looked at Healey, who was using his handkerchief to pick the revolver up.  “When you’re finished, Dan, I’d like you to call Captain Cassidy in IA and have him come down here immediately.  I want him to interview that woman and all of you.  I want to make sure that everything is done without the slightest hint that we’ve done anything wrong here, or that anything is being swept under the carpet.  Do you understand?  And get the lab boys here too.  I want everything documented.”</p><p>Healey, staring at his superior officer with pride and more than a little gratitude, nodded sharply.  “Yes, sir.”  He finished putting the gun into a large plastic evidence bag he had taken out of his pocket then stepped out of the room.</p><p>Trying not to wince as every muscle in his body protested, Mike knelt then sat on the bathroom floor beside his partner.  Steve was looking at him with a worried frown.  Shaking his head in frustration and disbelief, his hands still holding the bloody towel around Northcott’s head, he said softly, “We had no idea about the gun, Mike… I’m sorry…”</p><p>The older man reached out and patted his partner’s shoulder.  “It’s okay, it’s okay, we’ll figure it all out… we have to get him to the hospital first and then… then we’ll figure everything out, okay?”</p><p>Steve nodded, grateful for the encouragement.  They could hear the faraway wails of the approaching ambulance and back-up cruisers.  Steve looked down at Northcott with a  frustrated and angry snort; Mike, still shaking from the shock and the fear, and from the pain that was making itself felt again, continued to pat the younger man’s shoulder, now more for himself than anything else.</p><p>The sirens wobbled to silence and less than a minute later they could hear shouts and the clamour of heavy footsteps mounting the stairs.  Several uniformed officers appeared in the bedroom followed by two ambulance attendants carrying a large folding stretcher.</p><p>Grimacing in pain, Mike had already gotten to his feet and returned slowly to the bedroom to get out of everyones way.  He watched from a safe distance as the paramedics entered the bathroom; he could hear Steve talking to them, explaining what had happened.  </p><p>Carefully slipping out from under Northcott’s towel-swaddled head, Steve backed towards the bathtub, stepping into it to give the medics the space they needed in the small room.  He watched as they unwrapped Northcott’s head, discarding the blood-soaked towel.  With one of them holding the head off the floor, the other placed a large pressure dressing against the gaping hole on the right side Northcott’s jaw, securing it with wide gauze bandage rolls until nearly his entire head was covered.</p><p>One of the uniformed officers brought the stretcher into the bathroom and they placed the wounded man on it then, with the assistance of two of the patrolmen, hurried from the room.  Still in shock, Steve stepped out of the bathtub and started to follow.  When he got abreast of Mike, who was standing at the foot of the bed watching the stretcher disappear out the door, the older man grabbed him by the arm and pulled him to a stop.</p><p>“Where do you think you’re going?”</p><p>Steve pointed towards the open door.  “To the hospital with Northcott.”</p><p>Mike shook his head sharply.  “No, you’re not.”  He turned to the two uniformed officers remaining in the room with them; one of them was a sergeant.  Mike looked at his nameplate.  “Sergeant Reid, will you ride in the ambulance to the hospital and remain with Northcott as much as you can until we get there, please?”</p><p>Reid nodded.  “Yes, sir.”  Gathering his partner with a nod, he started for the door but Mike stopped him.</p><p>“Thank you.  And will you let Sergeant Haseejian know what hospital he’s being taken to?”</p><p>“Of course.”  Reid hurried out the door, gathering the patrolman with a nod. </p><p>Mike turned back to his partner and released his hold on his arm.  “George Cassidy is on his way here, I hope, and I want you and Dan and Norm, and that… that woman in the other room, to tell him everything that went on here just now.  We have to make sure that everything is above board, Steve, and that what happened here in no way undermines our ability to charge Northcott with three counts of first degree murder.  Do you understand me?”</p><p>Steve was staring almost unblinkingly at his partner, his expression a mixture of guilt and anger at himself for letting his partner, and his boss, down.  “If he lives…” he mumbled, looking at the floor and shaking his head.</p><p>“If he lives,” Mike echoed softly.  He glanced over his shoulder at the bed then grabbed the younger man’s sleeve and pulled him in that direction.  “Here, sit…” he ordered softly.</p><p>Steve did so, staring down at the still drying blood on his hands, knowing he couldn’t wash it off just yet.  Mike lowered himself slowly onto the bed beside him, grimacing.  </p><p>“How are you doing?” Steve asked worriedly.</p><p>Mike snorted, half in mirth, half in pain.  “Not so good.  Sprinting up those stairs just now sure didn’t help.”  He caught his breath and held it for a couple of seconds.</p><p>Steve stared at him in concern for several long seconds, wanting to reach out to impart some small measure of comfort but unable because of his blood-covered hands.</p><p>Mike looked at him sideways, a small, affectionate smile playing over his lips.  “I’m glad you’re okay,” he said softly, reaching over carefully to run his hand up and down his partner’s back.</p><p>Feeling the sudden sting of tears in his eyes, Steve dropped his head, blinking quickly.  “Thanks… me too…”  He swallowed heavily.  “But I screwed up, Mike… I screwed up…”  His voice was barely above a whisper.</p><p>Mike’s hand made its way up his back again, patting him gently.  “Well, maybe a little, but I want you to talk to George first, tell him everything you did, everything that Northcott did, everything that happened… and we’ll let him make the decision on that, all right?”</p><p>Still looking down, Steve nodded.</p><p>“Turnbull did tell us there were no guns in the house,” Mike offered.  “I wonder what else he lied about…?”  He punctuated the rhetorical question with a low growl.  “We might have to have another talk with our little canary.”  He looked at the younger man again.  “Besides, who hides a gun in a bathroom drawer?”<br/>His head still down, Steve chuckled softly.  Mike smiled to himself; he’d gotten the reaction he was hoping for.</p><p>They sat quietly on the bed until the head of IA appeared.  Mike excused himself and started what he knew was going to be the long, painful descent to the first floor.  It was a little more than an a half hour before Steve, his hands now clean, came down the stairs to join him out at their car.  </p><p>Mike was slumped in the front seat, his head back, his fingers laced across his stomach and the fedora down over his closed eyes.  He stirred when the driver’s door opened, blinking heavily as he sat up quickly, stopping with a gasp and a groan of pain, bracing his left hand on the seat.</p><p>“You okay?” Steve asked as he got in, putting the key in the ignition.</p><p>Still grimacing, Mike nodded.  “Yeah,” he said through gritted teeth, “yeah, I’m fine.  So, ah, you finished with George?”  He was not quite succeeding in keeping the discomfort from registering on his features.</p><p>Steve frowned.  “You sure you’re okay?”</p><p>“Yes,” Mike snapped, his eyes widening.  “I just got stiff sitting here waiting for you.  Now what did George say?”</p><p>Steve shrugged as he turned the key.  “He didn’t say anything.  He’s got to talk to the others first.  But he said I could go with you to the hospital.”</p><p>“Okay,” Mike nodded, sitting back and exhaling loudly.  “Okay…”</p><p># # # # #</p><p>Sergeant Reid was waiting for them when they came slowly through the Emergency entrance.  </p><p>“Is Northcott in surgery?” Mike asked as Reid approached.</p><p>The grey-haired sergeant shook his head.  </p><p>“Is he dead?” Steve asked quickly before Reid could say a word and the sergeant shook his head again, raising both hands placatingly.</p><p>“No, no, he’s not dead.  But he doesn’t need surgery either.”  He looked at Mike with a slight smile.  “There’s a Doctor Whitfield wants to talk to you.  He’s looking after Northcott.  He said to tell the desk when you got here.”  He nodded over his shoulder.  “I’ll go tell them to let him know you’re here.”</p><p>As the sergeant approached the desk, Steve looked at his partner.  “He doesn’t need surgery?  Mike, he shot half his face off.”</p><p>The older man looked at him and shrugged carefully.  “Well, we’re just gonna have to wait to hear what the doctor tells us.”</p>
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<a name="section0062"><h2>62. Chapter 62</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dr. Whitfield was a tall, bespectacled, grey-haired man about Mike’s age.  He approached them with his right hand outstretched and a broad, friendly smile.  Mike made the introductions.</p><p>“Sergeant Reid said you had something to tell us about Walter Northcott?” Mike asked with a curious frown.</p><p>Whitfield’s smile was grim and brief.  “Yes, ah, I’ve seen a lot of self-inflicted gunshot wounds in all my years in emergency medicine, most of them fatal, of course.  Which is what makes this  one a little different.”</p><p>“In what way?” Steve asked.</p><p>“Well, I’m not a hundred percent on this, of course, I’m not a psychiatrist, but from what I can tell, Northcott had no intention of killing himself.”</p><p>Mike tilted his head.  “You mean…?”</p><p>“I mean that suicide may have been his initial intention but he couldn’t or never intended to go through with it.”  He raised his right hand.  “Here, let me demonstrate.”  He made a ‘gun’ out of his hand, index finger straight out, thumb up, other fingers curled against his palm.  “He definitely put the gun in his mouth,” he put the tip of his index finger close to his lips, “but he didn’t fire straight ahead, which would’ve made the bullet go through the back of his throat and through his neck, or up through the roof of his mouth into his brain.”  He shook his head, moving his arm further to the left so his finger was now pointing at an angle to the right.  It looked awkward.  “He turned the gun so it was pointing at his cheek.  He took out a few teeth and blew a hole in his check but he didn’t kill himself.”  Whitfield raised his eyebrows as he dropped his hand.</p><p>Frowning, Steve attempted the maneuver on himself.  “But he’s right-handed.  Wouldn’t it be easier to shoot himself through the left cheek…?” he asked slowly, trying to work out the logistics.</p><p>Whitfield shrugged.  “I’m just telling you what I observed.  You’re the detectives, right?” he chuckled dryly.</p><p>Mike, who had been quietly frowning to himself, staring into space, focused on the doctor again.  “Ah, so you’re telling us he’s going to be all right?”</p><p>“Oh yeah.  He’ll have a hell of a scar on his cheek and he’ll have to get some teeth replaced but he’ll be fine.  We’re gonna have to keep him here for a couple of days.  Is that going to be a problem?”</p><p>Mike shook his head.  “No, ah, we’ll keep him under guard.”</p><p>“Okay.  Ah, what is he under arrest for, if I may ask?”</p><p>Both detectives looked at him.  “He arranged for the murders of his sister, brother-in-law and their 18-month-old son,” Mike said flatly.</p><p>The doctor’s head went back and his brow furrowed.  “Jeez…”  He looked and sounded shocked and disgusted.  “Maybe he should’ve killed himself…”</p><p>“It’s the coward’s way out,” Mike said softly, trying to keep the anger out of his tone.</p><p>Whitfield shrugged slightly.  “Yeah, I guess you’re right about that.  Well, ah, he’s been stitched up and bandaged but he’s still pretty groggy.  You can see him an about an hour or so, I would think.  I’ll tell the nursing staff to let you know when he’s conscious, okay?”</p><p>“Great, thank you, that’ll be fine,” Mike nodded, shaking the doctor’s hand again.  </p><p>With a final nod and grim smile, Whitfield headed away.</p><p>Steve looked at his partner, frowning.  Mike had turned away and was slowly making his way to a couple of empty chairs in the waiting room.  Steve trailed behind, still trying to figure out how and why Northcott shot himself the way he did.</p><p>As Mike lowered himself carefully into a chair with a soft moan, Steve sat beside him.  “So what do you think?”</p><p>“About what?”</p><p>“About why Northcott would go through the contortions of shooting himself in the right cheek, when he’s right-handed?  That can’t be easy.  Did he use his left hand?  Or did he have second thoughts as he started to pull the trigger but it was too late?”</p><p>Sitting stiffly, trying to find a comfortable position, Mike smiled at him enigmatically.  He shook his head slightly.  “I don’t think either of those things.”</p><p>Steve’s frown deepened.  “So what do you think?”</p><p>Looking at the younger man affectionately, the veteran detective chuckled.  “I think you and I need to get ourselves some breakfast.  I don’t know about you but I’m hungry.  I haven’t even had my morning coffee.”</p><p>Steve slumped slightly, his frown turning into a look of confusion.  “You’re not going to tell me what you think about Northcott?”</p><p>Mike’s smile got wider.  “I will, I will.  I just want to think about it a little more before I… put it out there, you know…”  He shrugged gingerly, grimacing slightly.</p><p>“It’s not getting any better, is it?”</p><p>The older man snorted.  “Well, like you said this morning…. It was this morning, right?” he chuckled and Steve nodded with a wry smile.  “Well, like you said, it’s only day two.”  He nodded with a small forlorn shrug.  “Help me up, will ya, and we’ll can go to the cafeteria.”</p><p>Steve got to his feet and extended a hand.  As he pulled Mike slowly to his feet, he muttered sarcastically, “Oh, goodie, hospital food, I can’t wait.”</p><p>Mike chuckled dryly.  “Look, if I was feeling up to it, I’d suggest going out to find a nearby restaurant, but the cafeteria is about as far as I can go right now.  But I tell you what -  I’ll spring for it.”</p><p>“You bet you will,” Steve growled good-naturedly as he started off across the waiting room.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>Steve pried the lid off the cardboard coffee cup and took a sip.  His eyebrows rose.  “Jeez, this isn’t bad.”  He took another sip to be sure, then looked across the table at his partner, who was spreading cream cheese on a bagel.  “Why is it that everyone else has decent coffee except us?”</p><p>“Well, if you remember Norm’s little lecture, it costs money to have decent coffee, so we’d have to raise the price of office coffee.  Do you think the tightwads in the office would go for that?”</p><p>“Asked the head tightwad himself,” Steve muttered under his breath, smiling when Mike froze mid-motion, staring at his downturned head and averted eyes.</p><p>“What was that?”</p><p>The younger man cleared his throat.  “Nothing…”</p><p>“Just so you are aware, I am now paying way more for coffee at home than I ever thought I would so I have every right to be cheap about the coffee at the office.”  And with that he stuffed the bagel into his mouth and took a triumphant bite.</p><p>Chuckling silently, still looking down at his plate, Steve picked up a slice of bacon.  “So, what do you think Northcott did?”</p><p>Mike chewed the bagel thoughtfully, taking his time before he swallowed.  He took a deep breath.  “I think it was all a part of his big scheme.”</p><p>Steve’s brow furrowed and he sat back slightly.  “What do you mean?”</p><p>Mike tilted his head.  “Bear with me, I haven’t really thought this all through yet… but every move Northcott has made, from the very beginning… well, from what we think was the very beginning four years ago in L.A. when he had Gene Hayes kill his own mother… has all been predicated on the assumption that mental illness runs in his family, right?”</p><p>His eyes riveted on his partner, Steve brought another piece of bacon to his mouth.  He nodded slowly in agreement.</p><p>“I mean the coroner in L.A. - who just happened to be O’Donnell and who knows how much of a coincidence that was…?  His mother’s death was ruled a suicide, and it did have the appearance of a suicide, even though the lead detective thought otherwise and he was overruled.</p><p>“Then four years later, his sister, supposedly in the throes of depression after the birth of her son, kills her husband and her baby and then herself, the theory goes… and the coroner, the same one, again rules it a suicide, citing a family history of mental illness.”</p><p>Steve’s nodding stopped.  “Right.  So, how does that equate to what just happened with Northcott?”</p><p>“Well, think about it.  Turnbull told us there were no guns in the house.  And I don’t know about you, but I’m inclined to believe him.  I mean, he had to know if we found one, his deal with us would be dead in the water, so he had a lot to lose by lying to us.  And then there’s the fact that it was in a drawer in the bathroom.  Like I said before, who hides a gun in a drawer in the bathroom?”</p><p>“Okay…”</p><p>“Well, I have a feeling that Northcott was never going to kill himself.  But he was going to give himself an out.”</p><p>“An out?  What do you mean?”</p><p>“Mental illness runs in the family, doesn’t it…?” Mike stated simply, staring at the young man with a slight smile, waiting for him to work it through.</p><p>Steve’s focus turned inward and he looked down, sitting perfectly still for several long beats.  Then slowly he raised his head and met his partner’s eyes.  “He’s going to go for a diminished capacity defence, isn’t he?  And he wanted to make it look like he was suicidal but he had second thoughts right before he pulled the trigger.”</p><p>Mike’s face broke into a broad grin and he nodded slowly.</p><p>“Sonuvabitch…” the younger man said quietly, shaking his head.</p><p>Mike snorted, his attention going back to his bagel and coffee.  “Don’t worry, we’re not going to let him get away with it.”</p><p>“We’re not?”</p><p>“We’re not.”  He pointed at Steve’s plate.  “Eat your eggs.  We’ve got work to do.”</p><p># # # # #</p><p>They were once more sitting in the hard metal chairs in the waiting room.  Mike was having a difficult time getting comfortable.  “My bruised butt,” he whispered to his partner at one point and they both chuckled.  </p><p>“What have you decided to tell Jeannie, when she finally finds out one way or the other?  And she will find out, you know…”</p><p>The older man snorted.  “I haven’t figured that out yet… although the truth might work for a change.  What do you think?”</p><p>“I think you can’t go wrong with the truth.  Besides, falling down concrete steps to stop a fleeing suspect…?  I think she’ll take pity on you.”</p><p>Mike raised his eyebrows and smiled.  “You think maybe I can get a pot roast out of her?”</p><p>Steve’s eyes narrowed and he smirked.  “I think you can get a pot roast out of her just by promising to walk through the door at a decent hour…”</p><p>Mike tilted his head with a facial shrug.  “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”  He looked up as a nurse approached to say they could see Northcott now.  They followed her to a small curtained cubicle, telling them that Northcott would eventually be moved to a private room.  They nodded at the patrolman standing guard just outside the closed curtain.</p><p>Northcott’s head was swathed in bandages and his half-closed eyes were starting to turn black.  There was a thick gauze dressing covering his right cheek and his right wrist was handcuffed to the bedrail.</p><p>Mike approached the bed with a cold smile.  Trying not to let the pain he was feeling show in any way, he leaned over far enough so he was sure Northcott could see him.  “Remember me, Mr. Northcott?  It doesn’t really matter if you do or you don’t… because you’re going to be seeing a lot more of me in the next little while.”  His smile got wider and colder.  “Because I know what you did, Mr. Northcott, and I know how you did it… and if you think this little charade of yours,” he gestured at the injured man’s face, “is going to work, then you better think again… because I’m going to see to it that you never see daylight again… and I’ll be the last face you see when they stick that needle in your arm.”</p><p>He straightened up and turned away from the bed.  As he walked away, he closed his eyes, fighting the pain.  Steve put a hand on his back as they left the cubicle.  Mike moved to the nearest wall and leaned against it, trying to catch his breath.  He looked at Steve and smiled.  “That felt good.  But I think I need to go home.”</p>
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<a name="section0063"><h2>63. Chapter 63</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It wasn’t even noon yet when the tan LTD pulled into an open space across the street from the De Haro house.  As he shifted into Park, Steve looked across the front seat.  Mike was slumped, motionless, his eyes closed; his tie was loose and his collar button undone.  “We’re here,” he said softly with a slight smile.</p><p>“Great,” the older man mumbled quietly with a distinct lack of enthusiasm.  With a deep sigh, he reluctantly opened his eyes as he reached for the handle and pulled.  The heavy door popped open.  With a soft chuckle, Steve opened his own door.  “Wait, let me get that,” he said quickly as he got out, circled the car and pulled the heavy passenger side door wide.</p><p>With a tired moan, Mike turned in the seat.  “Thanks,” he mumbled as he reached for his partner’s outstretched hand and stood stiffly.</p><p>They crossed the street slowly, Steve checking for oncoming traffic, Mike oblivious.  As they approached the cement stairs, Steve held back, letting the older man start up first.  “You, ah, you look like shit, by the way, so good luck trying to pull one over on your daughter,” he chuckled gently.</p><p>“Ha,” Mike snorted mirthlessly, “I’m not even gonna try.  I don’t have the energy.”</p><p>Close behind, Steve reached up and patted him on the back.  “Good plan.”  Half way up the stairs, he turned his head to look up and down the street.  “Hey, I don’t see your car.  Maybe Jeannie isn’t here.”</p><p>Not even bothering to look for himself, Mike continued his slow progress up the stairs.  “A brief reprieve,” he chuckled softly.</p><p>They reached the landing.  Steve already had his key out and opened the door then stood back to let Mike in first.  The older man stood just inside the door, closing his eyes and swaying slightly.  Steve shut the door then stood in front of his partner and took his hat off, putting it on the shelf in the closet.  “Come on, let’s go up to your bedroom.”  He started up the stairs.</p><p>With a nod, Mike turned stiffly and followed.  </p><p>“You think a soak in the bathtub would help?  Do you have any Epsom salts?”</p><p>“I have no idea.”</p><p>Steve went straight to the bathroom and rummaged around in the cupboard and drawers.  Mike wandered into his bedroom and began to undress.  “Found some!” came a shout from the bathroom and he heard the faucet turned on.</p><p>By the time Mike, wearing only his robe and slippers, made it to the bathroom, the tub was almost full.  Steve smiled at him.  “It’s not really hot ‘cause they don’t recommend hot water so it’s very warm instead.  Don’t stay in too long, fifteen or twenty minutes.  And then get some sleep, okay?  I’ll call you later tonight to see how you’re doing.”</p><p>Mike nodded slowly.  “Thanks, buddy boy.”</p><p>The younger man’s smile got a little wider.  “You’re welcome.’</p><p>Mike started to take his robe off, gritting his teeth.  Steve helped, catching his breath when he saw the large dark bruises on his partner’s left shoulder and down his back.  He winced.  “That looks painful.”</p><p>Mike nodded carefully.  “It is,” he gasped, catching his breath.  “Is my butt black and blue?” he asked with a chuckle.</p><p>Steve glanced down.  “Yeah,” he laughed, hanging the robe on the hook on the back of the door.</p><p>“Great.”  With a combination laugh and groan, Mike stepped carefully into the tub and lowered himself into the warm water.</p><p>“You gonna be okay?”</p><p>His eyes closed, Mike nodded.  </p><p>“Okay, well, I’ll head back downtown.  Don’t fall asleep in the tub, okay?  And, ah, good luck with Jeannie.”</p><p>Mike chuckled but didn’t open his eyes. “Thanks…”  As Steve opened the door, Mike said quietly, “I’ll be back in the office tomorrow morning…”</p><p>The younger man stopped and looked back at the tub, tears suddenly blurring his vision.  “Yeah,” he said quietly, “I know you will…”</p><p># # # # #</p><p>The phone was answered in the middle of the second ring.  “Murchison.”</p><p>“Yeah, ah, Lenny, it’s Steve Keller up in Homicide…”</p><p>“Hey, yeah, Steve, what can I do for you?”</p><p>“Listen, ah, I’ve got this case… this guy we just arrested.  I don’t know how to describe it but there’s something I’d like to run by you.  Do you have any free time today?”</p><p>“Ah, just a sec, let me check.”  Steve could hear pages being turned.  “Ah, sorry, not today.  But I am free tomorrow morning at 8.  Does that work for you?”</p><p>Steve glanced at his watch.  It was 1:53; he had wanted to talk to the psychiatrist before he went any further.  “Ah, yeah, sure, that’ll be fine, thanks.  I’ll see you then.”</p><p>“Ah, Steve,” Murchison said quickly before the young cop could hang up.  “Is, ah, is his work related or…?”</p><p>Steve chuckled.  “Definitely work related.  Mike and I have this guy in custody… well, let’s just say he’s a real piece of work, Lenny, and I want to talk to you about him.”</p><p>“So, just you?  Or is Mike…?”</p><p>“No no no, if Mike is in tomorrow morning, I’m sure he’ll be with me.”</p><p>There was a brief pause.  “If…?  Is Mike on vacation or something?”</p><p>“No, nothing like that.  He took a tumble down some stairs yesterday and he’s taking it easy at home this afternoon.”</p><p>“Ooo, that sounds painful,” the psychiatrist empathized.  “So I gather a little more than his ego was bruised…”</p><p>“You can say that again.  He’s got them everywhere, even his ass.”</p><p>“Oh, ouch.  I’ll see if I can scrounge up one of the hemorrhoid donuts for him tomorrow,” the shrink chuckled evilly.</p><p>“Yeah, that won’t help,” Steve laughed. </p><p>“That bad?”</p><p>“Yeah, that bad.”</p><p>“Poor bastard.  Well, give him my best and I’ll see you, hopefully both of you, tomorrow morning.”</p><p>“See ya.”  He hung up and sat back, staring at the papers on his desk, thinking.  He picked up the receiver again and dialed three numbers.  “Yeah, Rudy, it’s Steve…. Yeah, he’s not feeling so hot so he went home…. Yeah, yeah, I think I did read something about hell freezing over this morning…”  He chuckled.  “Listen, ah, are you free?…. Okay, great, I’ll be right there.”  He was on his feet before he’d hung up, grabbing his jacket from the back of his chair as he headed for the door.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>Captain Olsen had been briefed, by Haseejian and Healey, about the events of the morning, so he was pretty well up to speed when the young inspector knocked on his door.  </p><p>“Well, you’ve had a very eventful couple of days, haven’t you?” the captain growled in his usual style as Steve dropped into one of the guest chairs.</p><p>“Oh yeah,” the younger man agreed with an amazed shake of his head.  “And it’s not over yet…”</p><p>“Yeah.  So, ah, so how is Mike doing?  Is it really true he fell down some stairs?”  There was genuine concern in the gravelly voice and bushy knit eyebrows.</p><p>“Yeah, you know the ones on Joice at Pine?”</p><p>The older man nodded.  “God, those aren’t forgiving…”</p><p>“No, they’re not,” Steve agreed, shaking his head.  “But he’s just bruised… everywhere.  And he’s very sore today.”</p><p>“I’ll bet.”  He nodded to himself.  “So, ah, Norm and Dan told me what happened this morning.  Why don’t you tell me your take on it.”</p><p>Steve leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped, and he dropped his head, exhaling loudly.  “I screwed up.  It was a rookie mistake…. Bush, Mike would call it if he was honest about it.”  He looked up at his captain.  “I should’ve checked the bathroom before I let Northcott use it but, jeez, Rudy, like Mike said, who hides a gun in a bathroom drawer…?”</p><p>“Well, I’ve seen guns hidden in a pile of kid’s stuffed toys… in their bedroom, for Christ sake…. I don’t think you can underestimate the audacity of some people…. George Cassidy was on the scene?”</p><p>Steve nodded.  “Yeah, Mike brought him in.”</p><p>Olsen pursed his lips, nodding in agreement.  “Good call.  We’ll leave it up to George to decide what do… disciplinary-wise, if you catch my drift…”  Steve nodded soberly.  “You know, that partner of yours is really smart, but don’t you dare tell him I said so, you got it?”</p><p>Smiling, the inspector nodded.  “My lips are sealed.”</p><p>“So, ah, this Northcott character, he only shot himself, right?  And he’s still alive?”</p><p>“Right.” </p><p>“Well, this coulda been a lot worse, Steve.  You got off lucky, all things considered.  It coulda been a hell of a lot worse if you or one of our guys got hit so you can thank your lucky stars for that.”  Olsen smiled to himself; even though he was this young man’s superior officer, he knew his words didn’t carry as much weight as those of his partner.  “So, ah, so how bad is this Northcott?  Is he gonna be able to stand trial?”</p><p>Olsen frowned when the young man looked at him, a soft, enigmatic smile beginning to curl his lips.</p><p>“Rudy, let me tell you what Mike thinks is going on…”</p><p># # # # #</p><p>The phone rang.</p><p>She blew a stray lock of hair out of her face as she crossed to the wall phone from the sink, using the back of her hand to wipe the small beads of sweat off her forehead, not even bothering to take off the rubber gloves.  She picked up the receiver.  “Hello?”</p><p>“Hi, Jeannie, is Mike up and about?”  Steve was sitting at his desk, putting some reports in a folder, the receiver stuffed under one ear.  In her almost microscopic pause, he realized he had just made a huge mistake.  He froze.</p><p>“Isn’t he with you?” she asked softly, enunciating every word.</p><p>“Ah,” he swallowed, stalling, trying to think of what to say next, “ah, no, ah, he… I, ah, brought him home around noon… he said he was going to lay down for awhile.”  He cleared his throat.  “He must be still asleep.”</p><p>“Why did you bring him home?”  Her voice was flat and toneless.</p><p>“Oh, ah, well… ah, he, ah, he just wasn’t feeling very well, I think he might be getting a cold or something…”</p><p>“God, you’re a bad liar.  What’s going on, Steve?”  There was suddenly an anxious thread of steel in her tone and he knew he had to come clean, and quickly, if only to save his own skin.</p><p>“Listen, Jeannie, don’t be mad at him.  He didn’t want you to worry.  We were arresting one of the suspects in the Goodman case yesterday and, well, the guy made a break for it and Mike stopped him… but they both tumbled down some stairs…”</p><p>“He fell down a flight of stairs?”  She was starting to sound frantic.</p><p>“Yeah, yeah,” he responded quickly before she could envision an outcome worse than the reality, “but he didn’t break anything, he’s just bruised… and very, very stiff.  That’s why he went home.  I made him take a bath in Epsom salts and I guess he just went to bed.  And he’s probably still sleeping…”</p><p>There was a silence on the line that he found increasingly uncomfortable.  He was just about to say her name again when she growled angrily, “Call back later,” and hung up.  He took the receiver away from his ear and stared at it, his stomach sinking.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>She tore the rubber gloves off and threw them on the counter before bolting from the kitchen and up the stairs.  When she’d come home from shopping it hadn’t even occurred to her that her father was asleep in his bedroom; he always closed the door when she was home.</p><p>Her heart pounding, she put her hand on the knob and turned it quietly, stepping into the dark room.  The blackout curtains were pulled closed but she could see the outline of her father on the bed.  He was lying on his back.  As she tiptoed closer, she could see his gentle, even breathing and allowed herself to relax with a relieved smile.</p><p>She watched him for several long beats, her anger at Steve starting to dissipate, before she moved soundlessly back to the door and left the room.</p><p>As she descended to the first floor, her annoyed frown got even deeper; there were two men in her life who were going to have a lot to answer for when when one arrived and one woke up.</p>
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<a name="section0064"><h2>64. Chapter 64</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It wasn’t long before there was a semi-frantic knock on the front door.  A peeved and borderline furious look on her face, Jeannie opened the door then didn’t move, staring at the flustered, slightly panting young man standing on the landing.  He smiled wanly with a feeble chuckle.  “Hi.”</p><p>She set her jaw.  “That didn’t take long.  What did you do, fly?” she asked deadpan and he cleared his throat nervously.  </p><p>“There, ah, there wasn’t that much traffic.  Lucky…”  His smile disappeared, replaced by a look that was somewhere between guilty and pleading.</p><p>Without a word, her own expression unchanging, she took a step back and let him move past her into the living room.  He glanced nervously up the stairs as she closed the door.  “Ah, Mike not up yet?” he asked, a tinge of disappointment in his voice.</p><p>“No, he’s not,” she stated flatly as she brushed by him towards the kitchen.  He followed like a spooked puppy.  She stopped at the stove, taking the lid off a pot and peering in, keeping her back to him.  </p><p>He fidgeted, and she could hear his uneven breaths and self-conscious coughs, knowing he was trying to figure out how to handle the situation.  He’d obviously come up with no game plan on the frantic drive from the Hall.  “Listen, Jeannie, it really wasn’t our intent to keep anything from you -“</p><p>“Oh, really?” she interrupted sharply, still facing the stove, putting on mitts and opening the oven door.  He wasn’t sure what she was cooking but he thought it smelled like roast chicken.  “At no time in the past 24 hours either of you had the chance to pick up a phone and tell me what was going on?”</p><p>“We, ah, we were really busy…”</p><p>“Every minute…?  Even when Mike called me last night to say how much you both enjoyed the picnic lunch I packed you…?”  She had turned from the stove and was staring at him with wide, anticipatory eyes.  “I’m assuming he…” she closed her eyes briefly and shuddered, as if envisioning the sight, “he fell down the stairs sometime before then, right?”</p><p>Feeling more and more trapped, Steve nodded quickly.  “Ah, yeah, it, ah… it happened around noon…”</p><p>“Noon?”  It was a rhetorical response and he knew it, so he just nodded.  “I hope you took him to a doctor… or a hospital?”</p><p>“Oh, yeah, of course.  He got thoroughly checked out.  Like I told you, he’s just bruised… and he has some pulled muscles but mostly it’s just bruises…”  He shrugged helplessly.</p><p>“Where?”</p><p>“Oh, ah, Joice, near Pine.  You know those steps -“</p><p>“I mean the bruises,” she snapped, rolling her eyes.  “Where are the bruises?”</p><p>“Oh, ah, well, his shoulder,” he pointed to his own left shoulder, “his right knee, his back… and his butt…”  He shrugged again, abashed.  </p><p>She stared at him for a long beat without moving.  “And you allowed him to go into work with you this morning?”</p><p>His trepidation fell away and suddenly Inspector Steve Keller, police detective and her father’s partner, was standing in front of her.  “Jeannie, we arrested Walter Northcott for plotting the murders of his sister, brother-in-law and nephew this morning.  You’re damn right I wanted your father to be there.  This was all his doing, this arrest.  He was the one that wouldn’t give up, he was the one that wouldn’t accept the coroner’s conclusion that it was a murder-suicide.  And he was right.  I wasn’t about to tell him he couldn’t be there for the arrest.  Could you?”  He stared at her, his green eyes hard and bright.</p><p>She stared right back for a couple of very long seconds then he saw her reserve begin to crumble; she closed her eyes and lowered her head, nodding.  “No, you’re right…” she said softly under her breath.</p><p>He smiled slightly.  “Anyway, just so you know, he took himself out of the actual arrest this morning.”</p><p>Her head came up, frowning.</p><p>He nodded.  “Yeah.  We had to raid Northcott’s house and he thought he would be a liability so he stayed at the car while me and Norm and Dan and a bunch of unies went in.  He didn’t come into the house until Northcott was under arrest.”  He had decided now was not the time, if ever, to tell her about the ‘attempted suicide’.</p><p>“He took himself out of the arrest?”</p><p>He nodded again.  “Unh-hunh.”</p><p>“God, he must really feel bad.”</p><p>“He does.  And he needs the sleep too.”  He smiled warmly.  “I’m glad he’s finally getting it.”</p><p>Her head was bobbing slightly, her stare unfocused.  All the confrontation had gone out of her, he was relieved to see.  When she looked at him again, it was with genuine remorse.  “Thank you for looking out for him.”</p><p>Steve grinned.  “My pleasure, believe me.”</p><p>She smiled, suddenly and warmly, as if letting him off the hook.  “So, can you stay for dinner?”</p><p>His eyebrows rose.  “I was hoping you’d ask that.”</p><p>She chuckled, reaching out to swat him gently on the arm.  “Listen, why don’t you go up and see if he’s awake and I’ll get dinner ready.  It’s almost done.”</p><p>“Will do.”  He started to take off his jacket as she turned back to the stove.  </p><p>“Oh, ah, if he is awake, tell him I want him to stay in bed and we’ll have dinner up in his room, okay?”</p><p>With an appreciative smile, he dropped his jacket on the back of a kitchen chair.  “I’ll tell him.”  He disappeared out the door; she watched him go, once more appreciating the remarkable young man who loved her father as much as she did.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>He opened the door as quietly as he could and pushed it open, hoping it didn’t squeak.  The room was as dark as possible with the blackout curtains drawn but he could make out his partner’s still form on the bed under a light sheet.  He was just about to close the door again when he heard softly, “It’s okay, I’m awake.”</p><p>Leaving the door wide open, Steve approached the bed, realizing he could see Mike in the spill from the doorway but the older man could only see him in silhouette.  Mike wasn’t wearing a top and he could plainly see the now very dark and angry bruise on his left shoulder.   “How are you feeling?”</p><p>“A little better, I guess.  I think the Epsom salts worked a bit.”  He saw Mike’s brow furrow in concern.  “Uh, I haven’t seen my daughter yet -“</p><p>“She knows,” Steve cut him off.  He sat on the side of the bed.  “I, ah, I didn’t realize she didn’t know you were home and I called to see how you were doing…”  He shrugged in apology.</p><p>“So you ratted me out?” Mike asked flatly, his expression unchanging.  It took a beat before Steve realized his leg was being pulled.  Mike chuckled lowly and carefully.  “How did she take it?”</p><p>“Well, she was mad at me at first -“</p><p>“Mad at you?  Why was she mad at you?”</p><p>“For not telling her, of course…”</p><p>“Of course, what was I thinking?” he snorted, shaking his head and smiling.  “What did you tell her?”</p><p>“The truth.  That you fell down a flight of stairs stopping Turnbull from getting away.  And that you took yourself out of the raid this morning so you wouldn’t compromise it.”  He shrugged again.  “She’s, ah, she’s proud of you…”</p><p>“Really?”  There was honest doubt in his voice.</p><p>The younger man nodded.  “Really.  Anyway, she told me to tell you to stay in bed, she’ll bring dinner up here for everyone.”</p><p>“You’re staying for dinner?”</p><p>With a smile and nod, Steve started to roll up his shirtsleeves.  “I am.”</p><p>“Good,” said the older man, starting to push himself up and trying not to grimace.  “Don’t just sit there, give me a hand.  I want to go to the bathroom and get some clothes on before my daughter presents herself…”</p><p># # # # #</p><p>They had enjoyed the roast chicken dinner in Mike’s room.  He had changed into his pajamas and robe and sat on top of the bedspread, the others in chairs including one Jeannie had pulled in from her bedroom.  She had even made Steve dig up the TV trays from storage in the basement.</p><p>Jeannie was full of questions, which they answered without giving away too many details, and they left out Northcott’s ‘suicide’ attempt entirely.  When she left the room to take some of the empty dishes down to the kitchen and get dessert, Steve told Mike about the meeting with Lenny Murchison in the morning.</p><p>“Good call,” Mike said, nodding in approval.  “I want to be there.”</p><p>Steve grinned.  “I told him you’d be.  We’re meeting him at 8.  How ‘bout I pick you up at 7?”</p><p>“I’ll be ready.  Did you hear anything from Cassidy before you left?”</p><p>Steve shook his head.  “It’s still too early I think.  But Rudy seemed to think he’ll go easy on me.”</p><p>“Would you?” Mike asked evenly, staring expressionlessly.</p><p>The younger man frowned.  “Would I what?”</p><p>“If the roles were reversed.  Would you go easy on George… if he had done what you did?”</p><p>There were a couple of very long silent seconds between them, neither one looking away.  Steve blinked first and looked down.  He swallowed heavily and took a deep breath before raising his head to meet the intense blue eyes again.  “If he hadn’t done it before… if it seemed a genuine mistake instead of a gross lapse in judgement… and if he said he learned a valuable lesson from it…?  Then… yeah.  Yeah, I would go easy on him.”  He continued to stare, waiting for the response.</p><p>Mike looked back, his face unreadable.  “So would I,” he said finally, softly, then he smiled.</p><p>Steve closed his eyes and exhaled loudly.  “Thank you,” he whispered, and the older man’s smile got a little wider.</p><p>They could hear Jeannie coming up the stairs.  They both glanced in that direction, then Mike looked at Steve and winked.  “Okay, no more shop talk, right?”</p><p>“Right,” the younger man chuckled.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>Finished the dishes for the second time that day, Jeannie turned off the overhead light in the kitchen and headed upstairs.  Seeing the light under the door of the master bedroom, she knocked quietly.</p><p>“Come in!”</p><p>She opened the door with a broad grin.  Her father, his black reading glasses on, was sitting up in the bed, reading a large hardback book he’d been trying to get through for weeks.  He took the glasses off as she approached the bed.  “How are you feeling?”</p><p>He bobbled his head with a soft smile.  “Not bad.  The bruises are deep.  I know it’s gonna take some time.  The pulled muscles too.”</p><p>She sat on the edge of the bed beside him, leaning over to gently kiss his cheek.  “Do you think Absorbine Jr. would help?” she asked, raising her eyebrows.  </p><p>“Do we have any?”</p><p>She nodded.  “There’s half a bottle under the sink in the bathroom.”</p><p>“Humh.”  He made a face.  “Maybe on my back where it’s really sore… what do you think?”</p><p>She shrugged.  “Couldn’t hurt.”</p><p>He tilted his head.  “Sure, let’s try it.”</p><p>“Be right back.”  She got up and shot out of the room.  He could hear her rummaging around in the bathroom, much as Steve had done earlier in the day.  </p><p>He undid the buttons on his pajama top and was just pulling it off when she came back through the doorway then came to a dead stop, staring at him with wide, shocked eyes.  “What the hell…?” she stammered, her mouth staying open.</p><p>He frowned.  “What?”</p><p>She continued to stare.</p><p>He shook his head slightly in confusion then froze, his own eyes widening.   He looked down at the fresh scar on his left shoulder.  “Oh shit…” he whispered in self-recrimination, closing his eyes.</p>
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<a name="section0065"><h2>65. Chapter 65</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The tan LTD slid to a smooth stop at the curb.  Steve turned off the engine and opened the door, starting to get out when a familiar voice stopped him in his tracks.</p><p>“Don’t bother, I’m right here.”</p><p>The younger man looked over the roof of the car, surprised to see his partner slowly getting to his feet; Mike had obviously been sitting on the first step, waiting.  He chuckled in surprise.  “I didn’t see you.”</p><p>“That’s obvious,” Mike growled good-naturedly as he straightened up and walked slowly across the sidewalk to the car.</p><p>“How are you feeling this morning?” Steve asked when the passenger door finally closed.</p><p>Looking forward, Mike bobbled his head.  “Not too bad, I guess.  I’d probably feel better if I’d gotten a little more sleep…”</p><p>His partner frowned.  “Why couldn’t you sleep?”</p><p>Mike turned his head, his expression part frustration, part embarrassment.  “I, ah,” he cleared his throat, “I guess you could say I ratted myself out.”</p><p>“You what?”  It was more a chuckle than a question.</p><p>With a sigh, the older man dropped his head and shook it slowly.  “Jeannie offered to rub some liniment on my back last night after you left… and I took my shirt off…”  He made a face, raising his eyebrows and sighing again.</p><p>“And she saw your shoulder…” Steve finished for him slowly.</p><p>“Yeah….  I honest to god had forgotten all about it… along with, you know, everything else that isn’t functioning properly right now…”  The bruised and battered lieutenant looked positively forlorn.</p><p>Turning the key and starting the engine, Steve bit his lips to keep from laughing and unintentionally grinding salt into the already open wounds of the man sitting beside him.  “I’m just glad it wasn’t me…”</p><p>“Just… drive, will ya?” Mike growled, pointing through the windshield, but a quick glance over revealed he was trying to hide his own smile.</p><p>As the LTD headed down De Haro, Steve asked, trying to sound conversational, “So, ah, so what did you tell her?”</p><p>Mike snorted mirthlessly.  “Well, I’m not at the top of my game, as you’re probably well aware, and I couldn’t come up with a cover story that would’ve sounded even remotely plausible on the spur of the moment…”  He looked across the front seat and shrugged.  “So I told her the truth…”</p><p>Steve’s widened eyes flicked towards him briefly.  “About the Websters and everything?”</p><p>“Everything.  She was… well, she was shocked, which is not surprising, but she was also glad it didn’t turn out to be as bad as it coulda been… which is how I feel, by the way,” he chuckled softly, almost to himself.</p><p>Steve nodded as he maneuvered the huge sedan around a corner.  </p><p>“Anyway, by the time we’d talked it all out, and I’d promised her for the umpteenth time that I wouldn’t keep anything from her again… which we both knew was a little white lie,” he looked across the front seat and raised his eyebrows, “it was about two.  And, needless to say, I had a hard time slowing my mind down so…”  He shook his head in frustration.  “I have no idea how much, or how little, sleep I got…”</p><p>“Well, at least it’s all out in the open now.”</p><p>“Yeah, I guess.  But you know what?  She asked me what happened to the Websters… and I didn’t know what to tell her.  I’ve been so wrapped up in this whole Goodman case that I completely forgot about them.”</p><p>“Well, I guess we’re just gonna have to find out.”</p><p>“Yeah, I guess we are…”. Thoughtfully, Mike turned to look out the side window, his brows slightly knit.  Losing track of things as important as the Websters was something he wasn’t used to doing.  He didn’t know whether to be disappointed or alarmed with himself.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>Dr. Lenny Murchison was surprised but pleased to see both detectives walk through his door.  After a couple of questions about Mike’s physical state, which the older man quickly put an end to, they got down to business.</p><p>“Lenny, I don’t know what Steve told you about Walter Northcott…” Mike started simply, his fedora on his crossed knee.</p><p>Murchison looked at Steve and shrugged.  “Nothing.  I’m a clean slate.”</p><p>“Good.  Well, I have an idea of how this guy’s mind works… but I want to make sure it’s something I can take to the D.A. and not have me thrown out as a laughingstock or, even worse, allow him to get off with an insanity defence.”</p><p>The doctor smiled in understanding.  “Okay, shoot.”</p><p>“Okay,” Mike nodded, mostly to himself, “well, I think we have to go back to the beginning…”. He glanced at Steve and snorted softly.  “Well, what we thought was the beginning… the murders of Charles, Jane and Robbie Goodman about three months ago.”</p><p>For the next fifteen minutes, Mike outlined the set-up and consummation of Northcott’s plot to eliminate his sister and her entire family in order to inherit not only her share of the estate they had already split and her half of her husband’s lucrative financial advisory company but also to cash in on the insurance policy he had taken out in his brother-in-law’s name.</p><p>“He actually paid for an insurance policy that his brother-in-law knew nothing about?” Murchison asked, his face screwed up in alarm.</p><p>Both detectives nodded.  “That was the one policy he didn’t renege on, ‘cause he was going to pocket the entire amount when Charles Goodman so tragically died…” Steve clarified with a grim smile and raised eyebrows.</p><p>The psychiatrist inhaled loudly.  “He’s a piece of work, isn’t he?”</p><p>Mike, whose eyes hadn’t left the doctor’s face, trying to gauge which way his argument was going, nodded solemnly.  “Yeah, but he wasn’t done, believe me.”</p><p>Murchison’s frown got deeper.  “Ah, if this is going to go on for awhile, can I get you guys a cup of coffee?”  He gestured at the coffeemaker on a credenza on one side of the room.</p><p>All three looked in that direction.  “Is it Kona?” Mike asked and Murchison started.</p><p>“Ah, no, Maxwell House.”</p><p>Mike shook his head.  “I’m okay.  If you two want some…”  He shrugged affably.</p><p>Swallowing a smile, Steve shook his head.  “No, I’m okay.”</p><p>Murchison, who was frowning comically, not really sure what was going on, his eyes bouncing from one detective to the other, shook his head as well.  “No, I’m, ah, I’m good.”  He nodded almost absent-mindedly.  “Ah, please, Mike, continue…”</p><p>By the time the remainder of Northcott’s sordid history was imparted to the shell-shocked psychiatrist, which included ordering the murder of his own mother and yesterday’s supposed suicide attempt, it felt as if every ounce of energy had been sucked from the room.</p><p>Murchison raised his hands and ran them over his face.  “Good lord,” he breathed with a heavy sigh then laced his fingers and put them behind his head, leaning back in the chair.  He looked straight into the lieutenant’s patient blue-eyed stare.  After several long seconds, he smiled slightly.  “So what is it you want from me, Mike?”</p><p>“I don’t want him to get off on an insanity defence,” the lieutenant said flatly.</p><p>Murchison blinked quickly a few times.  “You know that his defence team - and I’m sure there’ll be a team, he’s got money, right?”</p><p>Steve nodded.</p><p>“So you know his defence team will hire their own… phalanx of psychiatrists to swear under oath that because of his family history he’s unstable and suicidal and not responsible for what… Turnbull and Hayes, is it?”  Another nod from the inspector.  “For what Turnbull and Hayes did… and to be perfectly honest, I’ve seen guys who’ve done worse get off on an insanity defence…”</p><p>“So have I…” Mike interjected softly, looking down at the hat on his knee and running his fingers along the felt brim.</p><p>Murchison nodded.  “And I’ll have to interview Northcott myself at some point…”</p><p>“Of course,” Steve acknowledged. </p><p>“But if he in any way comes across to me like you’ve just described, Mike, then I give you my word that I’ll do everything in my power to make sure any insanity defence he puts up, I’ll poke a hole in… if I have to bring in all my mentors to help me do it.”  He smiled.  “And I’ve got a lot of mentors, believe me.”</p><p>Mike closed his eyes and inhaled deeply before opening them again and smiling.  “Thanks, Lenny,” he said softly, taking his hat off his knee, uncrossing his legs and leaning forward, trying not to wince as he extended his right hand across the table.  </p><p>Murchison stretched out to shake the lieutenant’s hand.  “You’re welcome.”</p><p>Both detectives started to stand, Mike using both hands on the arms of the chair to push himself up.  Steve slipped a hand under Mike’s elbow to help while Murchison looked on worriedly from the other side of the desk, suddenly regretting the lame jokes he had tried to make at the veteran cop’s expense when they’d first arrived.</p><p>Safely on his feet, Mike looked at the psychiatrist and smiled again.  “Thanks again, Lenny, I really appreciate it.”</p><p>The doctor bobbed his head, grinning.  “Anytime, Mike.  You, ah, you take care of yourself, okay?”</p><p>Nodding, Mike made his way slowly through the door Steve was holding open.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>“Well, that sounds promising,” Steve said as he turned the LTD onto 16th heading towards Bryant.</p><p>Mike nodded.  “Yeah…. Thanks for setting it up, buddy boy, that was good to hear.”</p><p>The younger man grinned.  “You’re welcome.”</p><p>The radio sprang to life quietly and both sets of eyes snapped to it automatically, Steve reaching down to adjust the volume.  “Attention all units, a 211 in progress, grocery store, 30-12 16th, cross-street Weise.”  </p><p>“That’s just up ahead,” Steve grunted, stepping on the gas.  The car shot forward as Mike, ignoring the pain, leaned forward and grabbed the mic.</p><p>“Inspectors 8-1, we’re on 16th, we’ll respond.”  Not even bothering to try to hang the mic up, he dropped it on the floor and braced himself against the dashboard.</p><p>There were two large trucks off-loading produce parked at the curb as the LTD slid to an almost silent stop in front of the address.  As Steve slammed the transmission into Park, he glanced quickly across the front seat.  “Stay in the car,” he growled as he opened the door and bolted out, not even bothering to close the door as he sprinted around the back of the LTD, drawing his .38.</p><p>Knowing his young partner was right, and that he was still more of a hindrance than a help at the moment, Mike let the self-directed anger wash over him quickly as he turned and stared out the side window, trying to see between the two trucks.  The small grocery store with the large wooden fruit and vegetable display racks against the windows lining the sidewalk was almost directly in front of him. </p><p>Steve had jogged to the back of the long truck behind them and Mike knew he was now carefully approaching the store along the sidewalk on the other side of the truck.  He was yet to be visible to his partner, whose mouth was suddenly dry and his heart pounding.  Steve came into view, moving slowly, his .38 in both hands out in front of him, silently approaching the grocery store entrance.</p><p>A flash of movement in the side mirror caught Mike’s attention and the veteran detective refocused.  There was a beat-up dark blue sedan parked at the curb behind the truck, and a scruffy, long-haired, bearded man was getting out quickly.  As Mike watched, he saw the man shift a gun from one hand to the other before disappearing behind the truck.</p><p>Mike’s eyes shot back towards the store; Steve was still a few feet from the open glass door, his gun out in front of him, his entire attention focused on the store.  Peripherally, Mike could hear the sirens of approaching cruisers but they were still too far away to be of any good.  He had to do something and he had to do it now.</p><p>Trying once more to ignore the pain, he reached for the handle and pulled, slowly and quietly opening the door.  Gritting his teeth, he pushed himself out of the car and, leaving the door open but giving himself enough room to get between it and the truck, he moved silently around to the front of the large vehicle, watching as Steve moved between the two large racks of produce towards the open door.</p><p>Mike froze, flattening himself against the grill and holding his breath, as the gun in the outstretched arm appeared on the other side of the truck, continuing to move stealthily forward, trained on Steve’s retreating back.</p><p>Soundlessly drawing in air, Mike made a decision.  Praying he was in time, and that he could do what he needed to do, he launched himself towards the gunman just as the index finger tightened on the trigger.</p>
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<a name="section0066"><h2>66. Chapter 66</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Mike’s flying tackle caught the shaggy-haired man just above the hip, the larger man’s weight taking both of them hard into the waist-high wooden shelving piled high with different varieties of apples.  The gun discharged in the split second before the wood railing of the top shelf snapped, spilling the fruit onto the sidewalk as both bodies collapsed to the cement sidewalk.</p><p>Steve, hearing the shot and commotion behind him, used the diversion to duck quickly into the small grocery, realizing he couldn’t see the cash counter from the front door, crouching behind a row of chips and chocolate bars.  He could hear the agitated high-pitched voice of whom he could only guess was the gunman, repeating, “Come on, man, hurry up, man, shit, man come on, come on…”</p><p>The sirens of the approaching cruisers were getting closer and suddenly there was the squeal of tires.  There was the sound of car doors opening and running footsteps and suddenly there was a uniformed officer in the doorway followed quickly by the sound of a shot, deafening in the small store, the bullet smashing the glass window above Steve’s head, raining shards of glass down on him as he squatted even lower.  The patrolman at the front door ducked then stood quickly, his gun in front of him, and fired off a shot, deliberately high, before taking cover down the aisle opposite the plainclothes detective who was staring at him with wide, surprised eyes.  Someone inside the store screamed.</p><p>There was the sound of a scramble, the gunman barking guttural orders that faded in volume then disappeared altogether, followed quickly by the sound of a metal door opening and closing.  A woman’s sobs could be heard softly from the direction of the cash counter.  </p><p>Staring at the patrolman, Steve nodded and they both shot to their feet, darting down their respective aisles towards the cash counter, where a frantic middle-aged Korean woman was staring at them wide-eyed.  “He took my husband, he took my husband,” she cried in heavily accented English, pointing towards the backroom.  </p><p>Steve and the patrolman raced through the storage room, which they could tell in a glance was empty, to the back door.  Holding his gun in the air, Steve stood to one side as the patrolman put his hand on the panic bar.  They stared at each other, then Steve nodded once, sharply.  The patrolman threw his weight on the bar and the door shot open.  Covering each other, they charged into the alley.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>Black spots were floating in front of his eyes and he thought he could hear the dying wail of an approaching cruiser.  The ear-piercing siren wobbled to silence and suddenly there was someone standing over him, grabbing him by the arm and trying to pull him off the unmoving body beneath him.</p><p>“Lieutenant…?”  He thought he could hear a nearby voice.  “Lieutenant Stone?”</p><p>Suddenly there was a gunshot and the sound of glass shattering and hitting the sidewalk.  </p><p>“Steve…” he gasped, his eyes squeezed shut.  “Steve…”</p><p>A dark figure was kneeling beside him and he felt a strong hand gripping his upper arm.  “Sir, are you okay?”</p><p>There was another loud shot.</p><p>Breathing unsteadily through his mouth, his eyes sill closed, Mike tried to nod.  “Yeah… my partner… my partner…”</p><p>There was another loud siren, more running footsteps.  Hands were suddenly on his arms and legs and he was moved off the body that was starting to stir under his weight.  He felt a hand comfortingly resting on his chest as if holding him down.  The body that was now moving and groaning was dragged away and more footsteps came and went.  There were shouts that he couldn’t make out as he struggled to catch his breath.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>The alley stretched in both directions away from the back door of the grocery, both ends opening onto streets.  Steve and the patrolman looked at each other, eyes wide.  “Damn it,” Steve muttered under his breath.</p><p>He glanced at the patrolman again, clocking the nameplate pinned to the navy shirt:  Killick.<br/>He met the brown eyes of the cop who was younger than he was and smiled slightly, encouragingly, before nodding over his own right shoulder.  Floyd dipped his head in consent and they turned, starting down the alley almost back to back, their eyes scanning every nook and cranny, every possible place the gunman could hide, even with a hostage.  </p><p>They were almost to the end of the alley when the back door of the grocery store slammed open and three more uniformed cops spilled into the alley, their guns at the ready.  Knowing they had headed down the alley in the wrong direction, Steve and Killick started back towards the store.  Steve recognized a sergeant, and he nodded in recognition as he approached.  </p><p>“Steve,” the sergeant frowned, “what the hell are you and Mike answering a 211 for?”  He was talking to the homicide inspector but his eyes were professionally raking the alley in both directions.</p><p>Steve snorted and shook his head.  “We were driving right past here going back to the Hall.  You know Mike, he can’t resist a call.”  He nodded back over his shoulder.  “He’s not down there.”</p><p>“He’s got a hostage?” Sergeant Collins asked as he started to lead the small party down the alley in the other direction.  </p><p>“Yes, sir,” Killick answered, “the owner.  Korean.  I know him; his name is Park.”</p><p>Collins looked at Steve a little closer and frowned.  “Are you okay?”</p><p>The younger man’s eyes widened.  “Yeah, why?’</p><p>Collins pointed at his face.  “You’ve got blood on your cheek?”</p><p>Frowning, Steve reached up and brushed at his right cheek with his left hand; it came away slightly bloody.  He shrugged.  “Must’ve been from the window…”</p><p>As they moved slowly as a unit, Collins said quietly, “There’s a getaway car parked out the front… he might be trying to get back to it…”</p><p>Suddenly remembering that first shot, trying to control the tremble in his voice, Steve managed to spit out, “Mike…?”</p><p>“He’s okay…” Collins assured quickly, facing the opposite direction.  “I think he had the wind knocked out of him when he took the other guy down…”</p><p>“The other guy?”  It came out as one word.</p><p>“Yeah, I guess he was the getaway driver… but he ain’t driving anywhere now, that’s for sure.”  There was a touch of awe and humour in his voice that was confusing but somehow comforting.</p><p>They were reaching the end of the alley at 17th and still no sign of the gunman or his hostage.  There was a large dumpster near the entrance to the alley and they approached it cautiously.  Collins held back, nodding at Steve and Killick, acknowledging that as they were first on the scene, they deserved to take the lead.</p><p>The detective and the patrolman approached the dumpster quietly until they were both at the end, side by side.  They guns raised slightly, they made eye contact then Steve nodded as he had done earlier in the storage room.    As one, they spun to face the gap between the dumpster and the end of the alley.</p><p>“Don’t shoot, don’t shoot, don’t shoot…”  The Korean store owner was on his knees, his hands in the air and his eyes closed.</p><p>Releasing his held breath, Steve lowered his gun, stepping towards the frightened man.  “It’s okay, sir, it’s okay, we’re the police,” he assured the terrified man as both he and Killick took the older man by the elbows and helped him to his feet.  They could feel him shaking as they started to lead him into the alley.  The other two officers raced to the sidewalk on 17th, looking both directions before turning back to Collins and shaking their heads.  </p><p>Collins pointed to his right.  “Check every door and hiding place from here to the car.  If he’s smart he’ll just leave it but you never know.”  He turned to the store owner.  “Mr. Park, I’m Sergeant Collins.  Sir, if you’ll come with us, we’ll take you to your wife.”  He stared to lead the shaken man back up the alley.</p><p>As they followed, Steve glanced over at Killick and smiled as he holstered his gun.  They followed Collins and Mr. Park back up the alley to the grocery back door.  It was closed and there was no knob on the outside.  Still shaking in fear but nodding his head and trying to smile, Mr Park reached into his pocket and pulled out an impressive ring of keys.  He found the right one but his hand was shaking so much he couldn’t get it in the lock.  With a smile, Collins took the ring and opened the door.</p><p>The small store was swarming with uniformed officers and Steve crossed through into the store proper and out the front door, the shattered glass crunching under his feet.  He started towards the car beyond the truck when he heard a familiar voice on his left softly calling his name and jerked to a stop.</p><p>Amid broken wooden boards and squashed apples, Mike was sitting on the sidewalk, his arms wrapped around his upraised knees, his face a mask of worry and dread.  The younger man crossed to him quickly, dropping to his knees.  </p><p>“What the hell happened?”</p><p>Staring at him without blinking, Mike raised his right hand and touched his partner’s cheek.  “You’re okay?” he asked breathlessly.</p><p>“Yeah, yeah,” Steve assured quickly.  “You?”</p><p>Swallowing heavily, Mike nodded.  “Yeah.”  He touched the younger man’s other cheek.  “You’re bleeding…”</p><p>Nodding reassuringly, Steve smiled.  “It’s from the window… I’m okay, honest.”  He looked at the broken boards and squashed fruit.  “What happened?”</p><p>A patrolman was hovering nearby, watching the two detectives.  He took a step closer and crouched.  When Steve looked at him, the patrolman pointed towards the street, to a cruiser parked in front of the LTD.  There was an indistinguishable figure in the back seat.</p><p>“He took him out,” the cop said.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“The lieutenant,” he nodded towards Mike.  “We think that guy was the getaway driver… he was coming up behind you with a gun.”  He smiled.  “The lieutenant, ah, tackled him… well, ah, him and a few unfortunate apples…”  The young cop looked at the senior detective and smiled proudly.  “He’s says he’s okay, he’s just shaken up.  He was worried about you.”  He got up and backed away.</p><p>Staring at his partner, his eyes brightening, Steve turned and sat beside him on the sidewalk.  “You tackled him?”</p><p>Looking almost embarrassed, Mike dropped his head slightly and nodded.  “Yeah… I didn’t want to take a chance shooting him… in case… you know…”  His voice faded away as he shrugged.  “His gun went off but it went high, into the overhang…”  He pointed up and shrugged again.</p><p>Steve nodded.  He knew how his partner felt about using potential deadly force; the simple fact that Mike always removed his gun in the office and put it in his desk drawer said a lot about how the lifelong cop felt about the weapon they had to carry.  </p><p>“Did you get him?”  Mike was still looking at him with a concerned frown.</p><p>Steve shook his head.  “He took the owner hostage but let him go out in the alley.  He’s in the wind.”  He looked at Mike sideways.  “But he’s not our problem now, right?”</p><p>The older man smiled.  “Nope.”  There was a silent beat.  “Nobody got hurt?”</p><p>Steve shook his head again.  “Nope.” </p><p>They sat quietly amidst the bustle around them; after several long seconds, Mike slowly reached out and ran his hand up the younger man’s back till it rested on his shoulder, squeezing gently.  </p><p>“We’re having a pretty shitty few months, aren’t we?” Steve asked with a soft snort, dropping his head and shaking it as he chuckled.  He felt his partner lean into him.</p><p>“Yeah, we sure are…”  </p><p>“You sure you’re okay?” Steve asked softly.</p><p>Mike nodded.  “You?”</p><p>Another quiet nod, another gentle squeeze of the shoulder.  Amidst the turmoil around them, they were in a world of their own.</p><p>“Listen, ah,” Steve ventured softly, almost reluctant to disturb the fragile mood, “we can’t get outa here until we talk to Robbery… and this sidewalk is kinda hard, don’t you think?”  He looked at his partner with amused concern and a gentle laugh.  “I bet your butt’ll feel better on a softer surface, right?  So why don’t we go sit in the car?”</p><p>Mike nodded unenthusiastically.  “If I can get up…” he chuckled with a sudden, affectionate smile.</p><p>Grinning, Steve slipped out from under the older man’s protective embrace and stood.  Then he reached down, took his partner’s hand and pulled him slowly to his feet.  Mike stared at the younger man for a long beat, the roar of the shots reverberating through his mind once again, then reached out as, his hand gently gripping the back of the younger man’s neck, they turned and walked slowly to their car.</p>
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<a name="section0067"><h2>67. Chapter 67</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The tan LTD turned slowly onto the ramp and started down into the underground garage.  Neither of its passengers had said anything in the short trip back to the Hall from 16th Street.  As the large sedan slid into a parking spot in the middle of the large garage, the lieutenant said quietly, “You know, ever since we caught this case… it feels like we’ve been cursed or something…”  He snorted softly and looked at the younger man sideways, a tiny smile curling his lips.</p><p>Steve shut off the engine and turned slightly in the seat, frowning.  </p><p>Mike shook his head gently then chuckled briefly and sharply.  “I believe in curses about as much as I believe in coincidences… but still…”  He closed his eyes and took a long deep breath.  “I’m tired, Steve… physically… mentally…”  He laid the back of his head against the seat.  </p><p>The younger man stared at him for several long beats then turned the key and started the car again, slipping into reverse and backing it out of the space.  Mike opened his eyes and turned his head against the seat.  “Where are we going?”</p><p>As he straightened the car out and started down the aisle towards the exit, Steve smiled enigmatically.  “You’ll see.”</p><p># # # # #</p><p>Fifteen minutes later the unmarked police car pulled to a stop at the curb across the street from the Union Street apartment.  Mike, who had kept his eyes closed, slumped in the seat on the drive over, raised his head when he heard the engine shut off.  Squinting in the bright sunlight beaming through the windshield, he looked around.  “What are we doing here?”</p><p>Steve smiled as he opened the door.  “Going on vacation.”  He got out and slammed the door.</p><p>“What?” the older man mumbled to himself, still squinting.  His door opened and he turned his head slowly.  Steve was standing in the open door, his hand extended.  “Come on, get out.”</p><p>Slowly, with a helping hand, he got unsteadily to his feet then silently followed his grinning young friend across the street to the small switchback staircase leading to the funky apartment that his partner called home.  The front door was wide open by the time he climbed the steps.  </p><p>“Make yourself at home,” Steve called from the second floor, “I’ll be down in a minute.”</p><p>Mike lowered himself carefully onto the couch and closed his eyes again.  He didn’t think he had ever felt this exhausted before, in every way; he couldn’t even think straight.</p><p>Several minutes later, a smiling Steve, his shirtsleeves rolled up, came down to the bottom of the stairs.  “Mike…”</p><p>The blue eyes opened reluctantly and turned slowly in his direction.  “Come on up,” Steve beckoned.</p><p>Mike dragged himself to his feet and crossed to the stairs, trudging up one painful step at a time.  Steve was standing just inside the door to his bedroom.  The blackout curtains were drawn and the covers on the bed were turned down.</p><p>“I changed the sheets,” the younger man said with a smile, pointing at the bed.  “I don’t have any pj’s that’d fit you but you can sleep in your boxers and t-shirt, right?”</p><p>Mike was frowning, staring at the bed, then looking at his partner.</p><p>“As of right now we’re on vacation for the next couple of days.”  He pointed at the bed again.  “You’re going to sleep for as long as it takes for you to start feeling like yourself again, and I’m gonna… oh, keep you company and cook us some good healthy meals and maybe bake some sourdough bread again…”  He grinned.  “I’m going to be mother.  What do you say?”</p><p>Mike said nothing, his brow furrowing even more.</p><p>Steve’s smile wavered.  “Look, Mike, we’ve done all we can on the Goodman case right now.  Northcott has got to go through a psyche evaluation before he’s formally charged and that could take a few days, seeing as he’s still in the hospital, and there’s nothing else we can do until then.  You definitely need the rest and, truthfully, I could use a break too.”</p><p>Mike had started to smile slightly, self-consciously.  “Where are you going to sleep?”</p><p>“The couch.  I do it all the time… usually not on purpose but…”  He chuckled and shrugged.</p><p>Mike smiled widened briefly.  “What about Jeannie…?”</p><p>“Don’t worry, I’ll call her.  I’ll tell her what’s going on.  I’m sure she’ll understand.  I’ll ask her if she can put together a bag for you and I’ll swing over and pick it up.  When’s she going back to Arizona?”</p><p>“End of next week.”</p><p>“Then that’s perfect.  We go ‘on vacation’ for a couple of days, and you’ll be back in the game for her for the last week she’s at home.  So what do you think?”</p><p>Mike dropped his head and snorted with a soft chuckle.  “I think you talked me into it…”</p><p># # # # #</p><p>“Yeah, I think he fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.”</p><p>Steve was sitting at his kitchen table, a beer, a bag of sunflower seeds and a plate full of empty shells in front of him, a phone receiver stuffed under his left ear against his shoulder and his feet up on another chair.  He popped a few more salt-covered seeds into his mouth.</p><p>“Well, I’m happy to hear that,” Jeannie sighed at the other end of the line.  “He looked like hell last night.  I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so exhausted -“  There was a sharp crack over the line.  “Are you eating sunflower seeds?”</p><p>There was a brief silence then a quiet, “Uh, yeah… sorry…”</p><p>She chuckled.  “Don’t apologize, I just wanted to make sure there wasn’t something wrong with the phone.”  He joined in the laugh.  “Listen, ah, I’ll put his stuff in an overnight bag and it’ll be ready whenever you want to drop by.”</p><p>Steve took his feet off the chair and looked at his watch.  “I gotta go grocery shopping - I’m gonna grill us a couple of steaks tonight, so I’ll swing by before I do that.”</p><p>“Hey, I’ve got a couple of good t-bones in the freezer that just need thawing, I’ll throw them in a plastic bag for you… one thing less to buy.  How does that sound?”</p><p>“That sounds perfect, thanks.  Okay, l’ll see you in a bit.”</p><p># # # # #</p><p>Not even the smell of freshly baked bread could rouse him, so it seemed.  It was well after six when Steve quietly climbed the stairs to the second floor and slowly opened the bedroom door.  The room was quiet; when he’d checked on Mike earlier, there had been the comforting sound of soft snoring.  He was halfway to the bed when the older man said quietly, “That smells great.”</p><p>He stopped abruptly and chuckled.  “You are awake…”</p><p>A warm and almost chipper moan came from the bed.  “Uhm-humh…”</p><p>“Feeling any better?”</p><p>“Yeah… yeah, I do.  A bit, anyway.”</p><p>“Ready to eat something?”</p><p>“What’ve you got?”</p><p>“Well, fresh sourdough, as you can smell.  And Jeannie gave me a couple of t-bones you had in the freezer, and I got us some groceries so we could have some fries and fried onions, and maybe a little garden salad…?”</p><p>“That sounds like a lot of food…”</p><p>“I guess it depends how hungry you are… or will be in about an hour…”</p><p>There was a long silence from the bed then, “Hmmm, well in that case… very hungry…”  It was followed by a gentle laugh then movement from the bed.</p><p>“Where are you going?” Steve asked.</p><p>“I’m gonna come down and give you a hand…”</p><p>“No, you’re not.  Your job on this vacation is to feel better and mine is to cook, remember?”</p><p>The movement from the bed subsided.  “Fine,” came the subdued response.  </p><p>Chuckling, Steve returned to the door.  As he was closing it, he stopped.  “Oh, ah, I stopped by your place and picked up a bag of clothes and things that Jeannie packed for you.”  He pointed at the overnight bag near the foot of the bed.  “And I’ll let you know about ten minutes before we eat so you can, you know, dress for dinner…”  He continued to chuckle as he closed the door.</p><p># # # # # </p><p>Steve had placed a table cloth and everything they would need for their dinner on the coffee table in the living room; there was a baseball game on TV that he knew Mike would want to watch.  He had stood at the bottom of the stairs to announce in a stentorian tone that dinner would be served in ten minutes, and precisely ten minutes later, as he was taking the broiling pan out of the oven, he could hear footsteps descending the stairs.  </p><p>Pre-occupied forking the steaks onto plates, Steve glanced up when Mike appeared in the kitchen doorway and froze, a steak in mid-air.  The older man was wearing an embarrassed smile and a hot pink dress shirt.  “What the hell…?”</p><p>Mike looked down at himself and sighed loudly.  “My daughter’s idea of a joke…”</p><p>Steve shook his head like a cartoon character, absent-mindedly dropping the steak onto a plate.  “Okay… why?”</p><p>Rolling his eyes with another sigh, Mike raised his eyebrows.  “A few years ago I accidentally washed one of my white shirts with some burgundy towels I’d just bought… and the shirt turned, well, pink.  Very pink.  Hooker pink actually…”  Steve snorted.  “Anyway, I didn’t want to wear it to work, of course, so I just hung it in my closet.  Well, Jeannie found it one day and grilled me about why she never saw me wearing it.  So when she went back to school, I got rid of it.  Long story short, she found out and bought me this…”  He looked down woefully again.</p><p>His attention divided between his partner and filling their plates with chips and fried onions, Steve was shaking his head and chuckling.  He blinked exaggeratedly a few times.  “It’s blinding….”  He glanced down at himself.  “Well, I feel a little bland and boring now…” He grinned again.  “So, uh, so why are you wearing it…?”</p><p>The older man glared at him with a smirk.  “Well, it seems it was the only shirt she put in my bag…”</p><p>“Really…?”  There was a level of amusement in that one word that put every one of the senior detective’s senses on full alert.</p><p>“What?” he asked coldly, his eyes narrowing.</p><p>Chuckling, Steve’s attention remained on his plating chores.  “She may not be as forgiving about being kept in the dark as you think she is… but she’s not cruel,” he snickered with a soft smile then nodded over his shoulder towards the living room.  “There’s another bag of your clothes in there.”</p><p>Mike looked quickly in the direction indicated then back.  “So you’re a party in this?”</p><p>Steve pursed his lips, shaking his head slowly.  “She handed me two bags and told me what to do but she didn’t explain why and I didn’t ask…. I’m just the innocent middle man…”</p><p>“Innocent, hunh?  Yeah, I bet you are…”  Mike growled then grinned warmly, shaking his head and chuckling.  Changing the subject, he pointed towards the coffee table.  “We’re eating in the living room?”</p><p>“Yep.  There’s a ballgame on.”</p><p>“Are the Giants playing?”  Mike suddenly realized he had no idea if his beloved ball club was even in town.</p><p>Steve shook his head.  “‘Fraid not.  It’s the Dodgers-Cards.”  When Mike frowned, he grinned,  “Hey, it’s baseball, right?”</p><p>The older man waggled his head from side to side.  “I guess…”  He perked up.  “So, what can I do to help?”</p><p># # # # #</p><p>It turned out to be a pitcher’s duel, tied 1-1 going into the late innings.  They had finished dinner and were relaxing over beers.  Every time Steve looked at his partner, he pretended having to squint and shield his eyes, then chuckled and grinned.  Mike finally tossed a throw pillow at him.</p><p>It was the middle of the eighth and the station had just gone to commercial.  </p><p>“So, ah, I talked to Rudy this afternoon, about Northcott…” Steve began quietly.</p><p>“Oh?”  Mike looked away from the TV.</p><p>“Yeah, ah, Gerry is handling the case for the D.A.’s office and he’s arranged for one of their psychiatrists to do an evaluation so they can decide just what to charge Northcott with.”</p><p>“It better be first degree,” Mike growled, trying to keep the anger out of his voice.  </p><p>“That’s what he’s going for, but a lot is going to depend on the psyche eval.”  He shrugged, knowing Mike was well aware of that.  “But, ah, they’re not using Lenny…”</p><p>Mike brow furrowed.  “Why not?”</p><p>“Because Gerry found out we went to see him yesterday…”</p><p>“… and we disqualified him by talking to him about Northcott,” Mike finished, shaking his head in frustration at the realization they had unintentionally compromised the department psychiatrist.  “Damn it, I should have known that… stupid mistake…”</p><p>Steve shrugged apologetically.  “Sorry, Mike, I was the one that made the appointment -“</p><p>“You did nothing wrong,” Mike cut him off quickly.  “If you hadn’t called Lenny, I would’ve.”</p><p>“Well, from what Rudy said, Lenny just won’t be able to do the preliminary eval but Gerry will be able to use him at trial, so…?”</p><p>Mike was nodding slowly.  “Okay, well, that’s good…”  He raised his eyebrows.  “Anything else?”</p><p>Steve nodded once, smiling.  “Yeah.  I talked to Roy as well.”</p><p>“Why Roy?”</p><p>“Well, seems Roy’s been keeping tabs on the Websters…”</p><p>“Ah, yes, the Websters.  So what has been going on with my favorite criminally insane mother and son?”</p>
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<a name="section0068"><h2>68. Chapter 68</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Well, it seems the Websters got a split decision,” Steve said with an almost apologetic shrug.  When Mike frowned, he continued, “The son was will be released once they find a family member willing to take him in… and from what I hear, that might be a problem.  It seems the only family members, on his father’s side, all live in the mid-west so they’re trying to get in touch with them.  And whether one of them will take him in, well, that’s another matter.</p><p>“But, Momma the nurse, well, she’s being held in a psychiatric facility for a little longer.  She’s a, well, I think I heard Roy use the term ‘ a textbook worthy case’ and she’s engendered a lot of interest in the psyche community, from what I gather.  So she won’t be charged with anything but she’s not going anywhere either, so I guess you don’t have to worry about her, you know, showing up trying to find you again…”</p><p>“Well, I can’t say I’m surprised… about her, that is.  I was kind of expecting that, but I’m glad to hear about Oliver.  I never thought he was a bad kid, just doing what Mama wanted him to do.  But he’s intimidating…”  Mike looked at his partner, frowning.  “You never saw them, did you?”  Steve shook his head.  “She was… well, she was polite and… sweet to me, actually.  She never hurt me intentionally but she was sort of like Jekyll and Hyde.  I mean I think she was actually trying to help me but she wasn’t all there.”  He brought his right hand up close to his head and shook it.  “She kept giving me these shots that I guess were supposed to be morphine but thank god it wasn’t, I guess…. And there was an IV needle in the back of my hand,” he flexed his right hand, “that wasn’t really attached to anything.  But then on the other hand, when Roy and Rudy came to the door the first time, she made sure they didn’t know I was there, so…?”  He shrugged.</p><p>“But Oliver…?  He’s a big boy, reminded me of Hoss, but without the smarts…. I swear, Steve, he would carry me to the bathroom…”  Mike’s eyes widened and he nodded with a snort.</p><p>Steve chuckled.  “Yikes!  Well, sounds like you were lucky in a way, I guess.”</p><p>“Yeah, coulda been a lot worse, I guess.  But I know I don’t want to go through that again ever, that’s for sure.  But you know, with everything else that’s been going on, that seems a lifetime ago already… doesn’t it?”</p><p>Steve nodded slowly.  “Even getting the crap beaten out of me seems ages ago.”  He looked at his partner and started to chuckle.  “Where has the summer gone?”</p><p>Mike smiled and started to laugh.  “Well, we’re still here, both of us…”</p><p>“Yep, we sure are…”</p><p>Their attention returned to the TV when the Cardinals threatened to take a lead in the game, a comfortable silence falling over the room.  By the time the last out was made in the bottom of the ninth, not a word had been spoken.  The local news came on and both men watched it silently for quite a while before.  Steve’s eyes eventually slid towards the couch and he dropped his head, smothering a smile and chuckling silently.</p><p>The blue eyes turned in his direction, narrowing.  “What?”</p><p>Clearing his throat and swallowing, the younger man shook his head and shrugged at the same time.  “I, ah, I was just wondering where the hell Jeannie got that shirt…?”  He started to laugh and stopped himself.</p><p>Mike stared at him without moving for several long seconds as his partner struggled to control his amusement.  Finally he said quietly, “I have no idea… but I’m assuming it was in the Castro.”</p><p>“You’re probably right…”  He made a face as he looked away, mumbling, “Jeannie’s revenge…” under his breath and chuckling.</p><p>Mike smirked before turning back to the TV, raising a hand and rubbing it slowly over his face.</p><p>“Are you okay?”</p><p>He nodded, smiling slightly, appreciative of the ongoing concern.  “I just have a little headache…”</p><p>“What from?”</p><p>The older man shrugged slightly, keeping his hand over his eyes.  “I have no idea… just overtired, I guess…”</p><p>“Do you still have some Tylenol left?”</p><p>Mike nodded slowly, lowering his hand.  “But this isn’t Tylenol bad… plain old aspirin will do.  Do you have any?”</p><p>With a worried frown, Steve shot to his feet.  “Yeah, I’ll go get it.”  He took the stairs to the second floor bathroom two at a time.  When he reappeared with the pills and a glass of water, he urged, “Look, why don’t you head back to bed so you can catch up on all that sleep you’ve missed lately…”</p><p>Mike swallowed the pills and handed the glass back.  “The news is almost over… I can wait…”</p><p>Steve looked at the TV then back at his partner.  “All that’s left is the sports.  And you can read all about it in the morning paper.”</p><p>Mike stared at him deadpan for a second then nodded.  “Yeah, you’re right.”  He smiled as he got slowly to his feet.  </p><p>“How are the bruises doing?”</p><p>“Actually much better,” Mike answered as he headed slowly towards the staircase.  “They look really bad but they don’t hurt as much, thank god…” He had reached the first step and stopped.  He turned back and looked at the younger man with so much warmth and love in his eyes that Steve caught his breath, his vision suddenly blurring.   Mike smiled shakily.  He opened his mouth to speak then stopped, looking away with a soft, mirthless chuckle, bringing a hand to his mouth.  He looked tired and spent.</p><p>Steve waited, holding his breath.</p><p>The blue eyes finally found their way back to his best friend’s face and the twinkle returned.  “Thanks, buddy boy,” he said softly with a soft, affectionate smile.  “I’ll see you in the morning.”  He turned and slowly started up the stairs.</p><p>Steve swallowed heavily, unable to find his voice.  He took a couple of steps closer to the stairs and watched as the older man disappeared onto the second floor.  He turned to face the room, his thoughts miles away.  He walked slowly into the kitchen, taking another beer out of the fridge, opened it and crossed back into the living room.  He turned off the TV then sat on the sofa.</p><p>It was hours before he tried to get some sleep.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>“Yeah, so, ah, we’re gonna be under the radar for the next couple of days, okay?  He really needs to, you know, forget about the whole Goodman thing for awhile…. Yeah, he’s okay, he’s just really tired and that fall he took shook him up more than he wants to admit…. Yeah, yeah, I’ll tell him.  Thanks a lot, Rudy, and, ah, call if - …. Yeah, of course.  Thanks…. Yeah, talk to you soon.  Bye.”</p><p>Steve hung up and stared at the phone with a soft smile.   After a few seconds, he picked up the receiver and dialed again.  It was answered after the second ring.  </p><p>“Norm, yeah, it’s Steve…. No, we’re -…. Yeah, the next couple of -…  Yeah, both of us, we’re -… No, he’s fine, really, he -…. Can I finish a sentence?”  He laughed genially.  “Thank you.  As I was trying to say, he’s fine, just needs some rest and I need some downtime too, so we’re gonna hibernate for the next couple of days.  So all I want from you right now is just your promise to please don’t call unless it is a certifiable emergency.  You got that?….  Thank you…. Yeah, yeah, I’ll tell him, thanks.  Okay, you too… Good bye.”</p><p># # # # #</p><p>He was pouring another cup of coffee when he heard a shuffling behind him and turned to see Mike in the kitchen doorway.  The older man was smiling sheepishly.  “I, ah, I guess I slept in, hunh?”</p><p>“A bit, yeah.  It’s almost time for lunch.”  Steve picked up an empty mug and poured a second cup, handing it to the still waking man.  </p><p>Running a hand over the back of his neck, Mike crossed closer to the counter as Steve took the milk out of the fridge.  “How do you feel?”</p><p>Mike nodded slowly.  “Pretty good actually.”  He finished making his coffee and took a sip.  His eyes widened.  “This tastes like Kona.”</p><p>Steve grinned.  “It is.  I picked some up yesterday.  Now I get to bitch at Norm.”</p><p>“Welcome to the club,” Mike chuckled.  He pulled the loaf of bread closer and picked up the breadknife, expertly cutting a couple of slices, then turned to face the younger man with a twinkle in his eye.  “Listen, ah, I have a favour to ask…” he began tentatively and Steve frowned.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Well, seeing as we have the time, do you think you could teach me how to make a good loaf of sourdough?”</p><p># # # # #</p><p>Their first full day on ‘vacation’ passed quietly, sleeping, reading, breadmaking and watching Walter Cronkite trying to help make sense of politics in the wake of the Watergate scandal on the CBS Evening News.  Even with what they had been through lately, Steve had managed to keep half an eye on the goings-on in Washington and he now had the time to bring his previously pre-occupied partner up to speed on the historic events of the past few months.</p><p>A time of healing for the country had become a time of healing for them as well.</p><p>The second day was wonderfully warm and sunny, and they had taken a drive to Baker Beach for a long, slow walk in the sand, sharing the uncomplicated camaraderie that had come so easily to them from the moment they met.</p><p>They had returned to the Union Street apartment just before six, picking up a pizza on the way home.  The message light was flashing on the answering machine.  It was a call from Gerry O’Brien, asking either one of them to call him back at their earliest convenience.</p><p>While Steve took the pizza into the kitchen, Mike called the ADA.  After a couple minutes, he strolled into the kitchen with smile.  “Well, Northcott was released from the hospital today and he’s in custody.  He’s got an appointment with a psychiatrist tomorrow and Gerry might be able to tell us by tomorrow night what he thinks he can charge him with.”  Mike snorted dryly.  “I told him what I wanted… he says he wants the same thing but it’s gonna depend a lot on what the psychiatrist says.”</p><p>“Gerry has everything he needs from us?”</p><p>“Ah, yeah, he said he called my office today and Norm answered and told him what was going on so Gerry had Norm rifle through our desks and get all our files together and dropped them over to the DA’s office…”  Mike sounded a little perplexed.  “I’m not sure what to think about that…” he said with a chuckle.</p><p>Steve had put two plates on the table and was getting a couple of beers out of the fridge.  “Well, I think it showcases our stellar work with files and reports, don’t you?” he laughed.</p><p>“I guess,” Mike mumbled as he sat at the table, still frowning.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>It was late afternoon the next day when the phone rang.  Steve was sitting in the armchair in the living room, reading; Mike was taking a nap in the bedroom.  The younger man picked up the receiver before the second ring.  “Hello?”</p><p>“Steve?  Hi, it’s Gerry O’Brien.  Is Mike there?”</p><p>“Yeah, just a sec, I’ll get him.”  He was just about to put the receiver down when he looked up to see his partner standing on the bottom step, looking at him expectantly.  He held the receiver out.  “It’s Gerry.”</p><p>Mike crossed the room as quickly as he could.  “Hi, Gerry.”</p><p>Steve watched closely; it was mostly a one-sided conversation with Mike grunting the occasional “Yeah” or “Okay”, his unfocused stare down, nodding slowly and almost continuously.  “Okay, Gerry, thanks.  I appreciate you calling…. Yeah… Yeah, thank you…  Yeah, I will.  You have a good night too.”  He hung up slowly, his expression unreadable.  </p><p>Steve stared at him for a couple of silent seconds then asked quietly, “So… what did he say?”  He watched as the blue eyes slowly focused on his own.</p><p>“Um, the psychiatrist interviewed Northcott this morning and Gerry just got his report.  He’s, ah… he said he’s still got to talk to the D.A. about it, and we’ve got to get Jane Goodman’s autopsy report changed… but he’s going for first degree murder… and the death penalty…”</p><p>As Steve watched, Mike’s expression didn’t change but tears of relief started slowly sliding down his cheeks.</p>
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<a name="section0069"><h2>69. Chapter 69</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Steve glanced over from his position at the stove, stirring a pot of macaroni and cheese.  Mike was sitting at the kitchen table, both hands wrapped around a mug, staring unfocused somewhere in the middle distance.  He’d been silent and unmoving for several minutes; Steve was pretty sure his coffee was stone cold by now.  He cleared his throat.  “Dinner’s almost ready.”</p><p>The older man’s head came up and he focused, smiling slightly.  “Oh, ah, great…. I’m a little hungry.”  He lifted the cup and took a sip, making a face.  “Oh god, that’s freezing…”  He looked at his partner and made a face, shuddering comically.  “Even Kona tastes awful when it’s cold, I guess…”  He got up and walked to the sink, dumping the contents of his cup down the sink then picking up the pot on the coffeemaker to pour another cup.  “You want a refill?”</p><p>“Sure.”  Steve watched him for a couple of seconds.  “So what have you been thinking about?”</p><p>“Hmmm?”  Pouring a second cup, Mike looked at him with a frown.  “Oh, ah,” he chuckled softly, mostly to himself, as he returned to the table and sat.  “Well, to be perfectly honest, I’ve been trying to figure out the best way to… approach O’Donnell about Jane Goodman’s autopsy.”</p><p>Nodding to himself, Steve turned off the burner, pulling two bowls on the counter closer to the stove.  He knew his partner had used the word ‘approach’ deliberately.  “So, ah, what have you decided?”</p><p>“I haven’t ‘decided’ anything, but I’m weighing my options, you could say…”</p><p>“Which way are you leaning?”  He spooned the mac-and-cheese into the two bowls and carried them to the table.</p><p>Mike exhaled loudly as he spread the napkin on his lap.  “Well, nothing we’ve uncovered in the Goodman case says O’Donnell had any connection whatsoever with Northcott or the Goodmans or the murders… so the only conclusion I can logically come to is… he made an honest mistake…”</p><p>“Or he’s incompetent…” Steve offered coldly as he sat, picking up his own napkin.</p><p>“Well, there’s that too.”  They both chuckled dryly.  “But I don’t think so, unless it’s that Peter Principle thing at work again…”  He shrugged as he took his first mouthful of the very American pasta.  He nodded at the younger man.  “This is good,” he mumbled around his mouthful.</p><p>Steve smiled his thanks as he chewed as well.</p><p>Mike swallowed.  “I think my dilemma is, we have overwhelming evidence that all three Goodmans were assassinated by Gene Hayes, in the presence of Peter Turnbull and at the behest of Walter Northcott.  That is airtight and rock solid.  So Jane Goodman definitely did not kill her husband and her son and then kill herself.  O’Donnell has nothing now to back up his conclusion so he has to change his autopsy report… and he has to know I will go to whatever lengths I have to to make sure that he does that.”  Mike took another mouthful.</p><p>“Do you think he’ll refuse?” Steve asked quietly.</p><p>The older man shrugged.  “I have no idea,” he replied after he swallowed.  “I don’t know the man, I don’t know how his mind works.”  His brow furrowed and he sat back slightly, his dinner momentarily forgotten.  “He’s at the end of his career.  He didn’t have to take this job, but he did… and I’ve been thinking about that.”  He looked at the younger man expressionlessly.</p><p>Steve, chewing, tilted his head and frowned.  “Do you think you figured it out?”</p><p>Mike snorted and shook his head, stabbing more pasta with his fork.  “No, not really… I mean, I have a theory…”  He put the forkful of pasta in his mouth and smiled enigmatically as he started to chew.</p><p>The younger man swallowed deliberately, staring at his partner with a smirk.  As he picked up his glass of beer to take a ship, he asked with a chuckle, “And…?”</p><p>Swallowing, Mike grinned.  “Let’s wait for a bit, okay, I hate cold mac-and-cheese.  It gets all… congealed and… yucky.”  He stabbed another forkful.</p><p>“Yucky… okay…”  Steve chuckled, concentrating exaggeratedly on his own plate.  For the first time in days, he felt a sense of calm flood over him.  After what seemed like a very long time, the Mike Stone he loved and needed was sitting beside him again, and it felt good.</p><p>They finished the rest of their meal in relative silence, enjoying the good food and the quiet company, then retreated to the living room.  There was no ball game but they put the TV on anyway, a soft noise in the background.  Mike stretched out on the couch, as was his custom, and Steve sat in the armchair, having brought fresh coffees in with them.  They could both smell the store-bought apple pie warming in the oven.</p><p>Mike put the cup on the coffee table then laced his fingers, putting his hands behind his head and closing his eyes.  Cradling his own cup, Steve stared at his partner for several long seconds then asked quietly, “So, ah, what’s this theory of yours about O’Donnell?”</p><p>Keeping his eyes closed, Mike smiled.  The pride he continued to feel for this young man never ceased to amaze and humble him; he never thought he would find someone, so late in his career, who was as passionate for justice as he was, someone he could also call a best friend, and he would be forever thankful that their paths had crossed.  He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling.  “Well, I could be way out in left field here… and it wouldn’t be the first time, believe me… but I’ve seen this kind of thing before… in my career for sure, but even in the Marines…”  He brought his arms down from behind his head and pushed himself up slightly.  “This could take awhile,” he warned with a soft smile.</p><p>Steve smiled back.  “I’ve got nowhere to go…”</p><p>Tilting his head, Mike chuckled softly as he shifted into a sitting position and reached for his coffee cup.  “Well, I’ll try not to make it too long.”  He took a sip, keeping the cup in both hands.  “You probably haven’t felt it because, well let’s face it, you’re at the beginning of your career, but when you get to the end, or near the end, things take on a different… perspective.  I guess a lot of it depends on how your career has gone, if it’s been what you’d hoped it would be… or if it’s ultimately been a disappointment…  Because suddenly there’s that spectre of… I don’t know, legacy, I guess.  What impact have you had…?  What are you leaving behind for those that are going to take your place…?  Will anybody even remember you…?”</p><p>Steve was staring at his partner’s face, knowing the older man was talking as much about himself as he was about O’Donnell.  He could feel a lump forming in the back of this throat.</p><p>“John O’Donnell had a very storied career as the Chief M.E. down in L.A.  The way the guys down there talked about him, in a lot of people’s eyes he walked on water.  He testified in a hell of a lot of trials over the years, high-profile trials, and his testimony was always gospel.”</p><p>“Except for Walter Northcott’s mother…?” Steve inserted quietly and the older man made eye contact and nodded with raised eyebrows.</p><p>Mike raised his left forefinger.  “And there’s the rub, as Shakespeare would say, right?”  They both chuckled briefly.  “Up to then, as far as I can tell, he was exemplary, the gold standard of medical examiners… and then he seemed to go off the rails… at least in that one case.”  He shrugged.  “Why?”  He shook his head.  “A couple of years later, he retires, his reputation still intact.  He resting on his laurels… but something is missing…  The limelight?  The fawning?  Who knows?  So he gets the opportunity to come out of retirement, briefly, to step back into the center ring again, to be the big man on campus again in another city.  And then he makes another mistake.  For some reason that I haven’t figured out yet.. a reason that has nothing to do with Walter Northcott and his disgustingly evil plot to wipe out his own family for his on personal gain… O’Donnell once again firmly believes that because of a history of mental illness that runs in the family a woman killed her husband and son and then committed suicide.”</p><p>“So you think maybe O’Donnell remembered the suicide ruling he made on Northcott’s mother?  Do you think he even knew the two cases were connected?  That, what, there was something else going on there, like covering up a mistake he made in the initial autopsy?” Steve asked quietly.</p><p>“You mean with the mother?”</p><p>“Umh-humh.”</p><p>“No, I don’t… I don’t know if he knew it was the same family and I definitely don’t know why…”  Mike stared at him with a faraway look, deep in thought.  “Just like, more and more, I’m beginning to believe that his conclusion that the Goodman murders were a murder-suicide was actually made in good faith.”</p><p>“Really?”  Steve sounded genuinely surprised.  “If you recall, you were quite… incensed when we got the report.”  He knew he was stepping onto very thin ice.</p><p>“Oh, I remember,” Mike smiled wryly, cocking his head and snorting softly, “but I’ve had a lot of time to think about that since then.  I was so sure we were gonna find some connection between the Goodman or Northcott families and O’Donnell but…” He shook his head with a facial shrug, staring unfocused into the middle distance as if still trying to discover that missing piece to the very large puzzle.  “And that, ah, that bravado of his, that ‘I don’t have to explain myself to you’ attitude he has… I think he’s hiding something, Steve.  I really do, I just don’t know what it is.  At least not yet…”  He raised his eyes and looked at the younger man with a slight, enigmatic smile.</p><p>Steve stared at him, tilting his head and frowning.  “So what are you going to do?”</p><p>“I’m going to the library tomorrow.”</p><p>“Again?  Why the library?”</p><p>“More research.’</p><p>“Research…?  What kind of research?”</p><p>“Oh no,” Mike responded with a chuckle, “you know me… I’m not going to potentially jinx anything by giving voice to it before I know whether or not I’m on the right track.  You should know that by now, right?”</p><p>“Of course, silly me,” Steve chuckled, still frowning slightly in confusion.  “So… this trip to the library tomorrow?  You want me to come with you?”</p><p>“No no, I’ll be fine on my own.  Besides, right now it’s only a hunch.”</p><p>“A hunch, hunh?”</p><p>The other man nodded.</p><p>“Why does a chill always run down my spine every time you say that?”</p><p>Mike stared at him with a soft smile.  “I have no idea what you mean.”</p><p>Steve snorted affably, shaking his head.  “Well, don’t forget I’m here whenever you need me.”</p><p>The gentle blue eyes stared at him for a long beat.  “I know. I’m counting on that.”</p><p># # # # #</p><p>“This should get you started, Lieutenant, and I’ll bring the other rolls when I can dig them out,” the young man said with a smile as he finished threading the microfilm roll through the machine.  “It may take awhile… we’re going back a long way.”</p><p>“I know, I’m sorry,” Mike half-apologized with a gentle laugh.  “But I’m in no rush, I have all day.  Listen, ah, how many other cities to you have this kind of material on?”</p><p>“You mean newspapers from other cities?”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>The young man raised his eyebrows.  “Oh, lots.  Most of the big ones, big cities that is.  And, if you give us a couple of days, we can request microfilm rolls from other libraries… we have lending policies with most other big city libraries, especially in California.”</p><p>“Well, let’s just hope I find what I’m looking for in the ones you have here,” Mike laughed.  “Thank you very much.”  He nodded pleasantly at the young man, who smiled back before disappearing through the stacks.  He put a notebook and pen on the desk then shrugged out of his windbreaker and dropped it over the back of the chair.  Fishing his reading glasses out of his shirt pocket, he slipped them on as he leaned closer to the large screen, his right hand on the control knob.  He turned it slowly and the black-and-white images of very old newspaper text began to scroll sideways across the screen.</p><p>He was going over old ground, he knew, but he wanted to dig a little deeper.  He vaguely remembered something he had had seen the first time he had taken a deep dive into John O’Donnell’s tenure as L.A. County’s chief medical examiner.  Now he wanted to confirm the disturbing premise that had been running through his mind since the pieces of the very large puzzle that had been the Goodman family murders had finally coalesced into arrests and, hopefully, convictions.</p>
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<a name="section0070"><h2>70. Chapter 70</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>His head in the oven, he heard the front door open and close and called over his shoulder, “You had a long day!”</p><p>Mike dragged himself into the kitchen, dropping a legal length file folder on the table as he sunk heavily into a chair.  He watched, trying to smother a yawn, as the other man backed out of the oven with a heavy casserole dish between his oven mitt covered hands, placing it on a burner then turning towards the table.  “You look beat.”</p><p>The older man bobbled his head.  “It took a lot longer than I thought it would and I’m not done yet.”</p><p>“Really?”</p><p>“No… but at least I don’t have to go back to the library, I can do it from the office.”  He yawned again.</p><p>“Jeez, you gonna be able to stay awake for some dinner?”</p><p>Mike smiled mischievously.  “It depends on what it is…”</p><p>Steve smirked.  “I made a lasagna.”</p><p>Mike’s eyes widened.  “Really?  I love lasagna.”</p><p>“I know you do.”  He nodded over his shoulder at a tall green bottle on the counter.  “And I got us a really nice bottle of wine to go with it.  Listen, why don’t you go and wash up while I get everything out, and then you can tell me what you discovered today.”</p><p>Yawning once more, Mike got to his feet.  “That sounds like a plan.”  He disappeared up onto the second floor.  When he got back, dinner was on the table, along with glasses of a very dark red wine.  Mike stopped just inside the door and looked at the table with wide eyes.  “Wow, this looks great.”</p><p>Steve was sitting at the table and he raised his glass in a toast.  “Well, I figured you’d be going home tomorrow so…?”</p><p>Chuckling affectionately, Mike sat and raised his wine glass.  “Cheers.”</p><p>“Cheers…”  They clinked glasses and took a sip.  Mike raised his eyebrows.  “Very nice,” he chuckled as he put the glass down and the picked up the fork.  Steve watched in anticipation as Mike took the first bite and chewed thoughtfully, his expression unreadable.  When he finally swallowed, he pursed his lips then looked at the younger man with a frown.  “That is… extraordinary,” he beamed suddenly, laughing.  “I’m not kidding, it’s really good.  As good as Jeannie’s.”</p><p>Steve relaxed, chuckling, as he picked up his own fork.  “High praise indeed.  So, did you find what you were hoping to find today?”</p><p>Mike tilted his head as he cut another piece of pasta with his fork.  “Yeah, I think so…. But like I said, I’m not done yet.  But it involves phone calls, so I’m going to go into the office tomorrow and make them from there.  It’ll be Saturday so it’ll be relatively quiet, I hope.”</p><p>“Anything I can do to help?”</p><p>The older man smiled.  “Nope.  But thanks.”</p><p>Steve grinned as he picked up his glass.  “I was kinda hoping you’d say that… ‘cause I have a date tomorrow night.”</p><p>Mike’s head went back slightly.  “Like a real date… with a real live woman?”</p><p>The younger man was nodded enthusiastically.  “Yep, a real one…”</p><p>“Well, good for you.  Is she one of the ones I’ve met already?”</p><p>Steve’s nodding turned into head shaking.  “Nope, this is a brand new one.”</p><p>“Oh.  So where did you meet her?” Mike asked before taking another bite.</p><p>“Ah, actually when I was grocery shopping the other day…”  He grinned as he filled his fork with lasagna.</p><p>“You don’t miss a trick, do you?”  There was awe mixed with pride in the older man’s voice.</p><p>“I try not to,” Steve chuckled.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>There were two patrolmen and a sergeant manning the phones but otherwise the Homicide office was empty.  Mike, his door closed, had been behind his desk since late morning, making phone call after phone call.  Most of them had been dead ends but as the afternoon wore on, he had begun to get closer to his target.</p><p>He dialed the ten digit number and waited while the ringing started.  He swallowed nervously, the pen at the ready in his right hand.  He abstractedly straightened the yellow pad once again as he took a deep breath and waited.</p><p>“Hello?”</p><p>“Hello.  I’m sorry to bother you but is this Mrs. Monroe, Jean Monroe?”</p><p>There was a slight hesitation then the voice of the obviously older woman said hesitantly, “Yes, it is.  Who may I ask is calling?”</p><p>“Mrs. Monroe, my name is Mike Stone, Lieutenant Mike Stone from the San Francisco Police Department…“</p><p>“Oh… ah, yes, um, I see.   What can I do for you, Lieutenant?”</p><p># # # # #</p><p>She heard the door open and smiled to herself.  Leaning away from the stove, she called out, “Perfect timing, Mike!”</p><p>He chuckled as he appeared in the kitchen doorway.  “I’m always in time for pot roast.  That smells wonderful, as usual.”  He laughed as he came up behind his daughter and wrapped his arms around her.  </p><p>Grinning, she leaned back into him.  “I’m glad you’re feeling better.”</p><p>He nodded.  “Steve was right, I needed the break.  It helped.”  He squeezed her and let her go.  “Now I just need your pot roast and I’ll be a hundred percent again.”  He crossed to the fridge and took out a can of ginger ale, popping the tab.</p><p>She looked at him sideways as she stirred the gravy.  “It’ll be ready in about a half hour.”</p><p>He nodded as he took off the Giants cap and started to back into the living room.  </p><p>“Hey, Mike?”  He stopped and looked at her.  “Did you find what you were looking for today?”</p><p>“Umh-humh,” he nodded with a closed mouth smile, and she knew immediately that he wasn’t going to say anymore.  </p><p>She smiled at him proudly.  “Good.”</p><p># # # # # </p><p>“So, ah, so how was your date last night?” Mike asked with a low chuckle as Steve, as casually dressed as his boss, dropped into the guest chair, smiling enigmatically.</p><p>“Well, ah, it might still be going on if you hadn’t called me this morning…” the younger man said pointedly, clearing his throat for effect.</p><p>Mike’s smile disappeared.  “You mean…?”</p><p>“I mean we were just about to go out for a late breakfast when you called…”</p><p>The older man slunk back in the chair.  “Oh… ah, sorry about that…”  He looked genuinely contrite.  “I just thought… I mean…”  He shrugged apologetically, his brows raised. </p><p>Steve smiled and chuckled.  “Don’t worry about it.  She understood.  And as a matter of fact, I think it impressed her…”</p><p>“Really?”</p><p>The younger man nodded, still smiling.</p><p>“Oh, well, ah, okay then, that’s good.”</p><p>Shaking his head and continuing to chuckle, Steve leaned forward.  “So what was it you wanted to talk to me about?”</p><p>Mike leaned forward, the smile melting away as he reached for the file folder he had set in the centre of the desk and opened it.  “That, ah, that hunch I had?  Well, turns out I was right.”</p><p>He turned the file around and pushed it closer to the far side of the desk.  Steve glanced up at the older man, frowning, as he picked up the folder.  Mike stood, grabbing his coffee cup, and started for the door.  “You want a coffee?”</p><p>His eyes on the top page of the file, starting to read, Steve shook his head.  “No, I’m good, thanks.”</p><p>Watching from the coffee station as his partner began to read, Mike smiled sadly to himself.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>Steve closed the folder and put it almost gently on the desk then looked up into the expectant blue eyes staring at him.  Neither of them said anything for several long seconds.</p><p>“Well…?” Mike finally asked.</p><p>Steve shook his head almost imperceptibly, wrapping his right arm around his chest and bringing his left hand to his mouth, his index finger pressed against his upper lip.  He was staring, unfocused, somewhere in the middle distance.  He exhaled slowly and loudly.  “I wasn’t expecting that…”</p><p>Mike snorted.  “Well, I figured there had to be something… something that nobody else knew about.”</p><p>The younger man nodded.  “So, ah, what do you want to do with this?”  He pointed at the file.</p><p>Mike raised his eyebrows.  “Yeah, that’s… that’s the next move.  I think we should talk to Gerry about this first, before we do anything else.  What do you think?”</p><p>Steve nodded.  “Yeah… yeah, that sounds like the way to go.  When do you want to do that?”</p><p>“Well, we can’t do it today, that’s for sure, but I’d like to do it first thing tomorrow morning, if we can get ahold of Gerry.”</p><p>“That sounds good.”  The younger man exhaled loudly.  “Man, it sure makes you look at everything differently, doesn’t it?”</p><p>“Umh-humh.”  Mike sighed then looked at his partner with a slight smile.  “Hey, sorry about, uh, you know, this morning…”  He shrugged apologetically again.</p><p>Steve chuckled warmly.  “Don’t worry about it.  It’s all good.”</p><p>“Okay.”  Mike looked at his watch.  “Listen, ah, I’m gonna hang around, get some work done while it’s quiet.  Why don’t you get outa here and enjoy what’s left of your Sunday?  Maybe you can give that young lady of yours a call…?”</p><p>Laughing, Steve got to his feet.  “Maybe I will.”  He stepped to the open door and looked back.  “Incredible work, Mike, really…”</p><p>The older man smiled self-consciously and nodded.  “Thanks.”</p><p># # # # #</p><p>Mike took the form out of his typewriter and turned back to the desk.  He glanced at his watch; he still had about an hour till he had to leave, having promised Jeannie he would be home for dinner.  Through the open office door he could hear the soft murmur of one of the homicide detectives on the phone but otherwise the office was eerily quiet.<br/>A few minutes later there was a soft clearing of a throat from just outside his office door and he looked up sharply, his eyes widening in surprise.  Inspector Bill Tanner, dressed casually in a golf shirt under a sports coat, was standing in the open doorway.</p><p>Mike took off his glasses.  “Bill!  What the hell are you doing here on your day off?”</p><p>Tanner smiled as he took a step deeper into the room.  “Hi, Mike.  Ah, do you mind?”  He pointed at the guest chair.</p><p>Mike glanced at the chair then back at his inspector.  “No, of course not.”  </p><p>Tanner closed the door then sank into the chair.</p><p>“What’s this all about?” Mike asked, suddenly and genuinely concerned.</p><p>The young inspector cleared his throat, bringing both his hands, palms together, up in front of mouth and taking a deep breath.  Mike watched with a frown.</p><p>“Is it something to do with a case?  Something going on in the office?”</p><p>Tanner shook his head.  “No, nothing like that.  It’s, ah, it’s more of a personal thing… but not really…”  He growled suddenly, shaking his head as if angry at himself.  He glanced over his shoulder, through the glass pane in the door towards the bullpen.  “Look, Mike, I know we’re pretty well alone here but I don’t feel… comfortable.  Do you think we can go somewhere more… private?”</p><p>Still frowning, Mike nodded slowly.  “Sure… sure, Bill, that’s not a problem.”  He started to get up, picking up his glasses and putting them in his shirt pocket before crossing to the coat rack.  “How about we head over to Cora’s and get a cup of coffee?”  He glanced at the coffee station with a smirk.  “Good coffee.”</p><p>Tanner chuckled and nodded, grateful for the understanding and the attempt to defuse to the sudden gravity of the situation.  Mike slipped his jacket on then dropped the hat on his head as he opened the door and led them across the bullpen.</p>
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<a name="section0071"><h2>71. Chapter 71</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Thank you.”  Mike smiled up at the waitress as she finished putting the two coffees on the table.  She nodded with a warm smile of her own, turning away and taking the menus with her.  Mike pushed the small jug of milk and bowl of sugar cubes closer to the younger man sitting on the other side of the table in the almost empty diner.</p><p>Bill Tanner was looking down, his thoughts obviously far away. </p><p>His boss cleared his throat slightly and Tanner looked up.  Mike nodded at the cup and saucer and Tanner shook his head slightly with a soft snort, as if embarrassed to be caught in a partial trance, picking up the milk jug and pouring.  Mike let the silence lengthen while they both dealt with their coffees.  Finished, he watched as the inspector took an almost absentminded sip, his attention remaining anywhere but where he was at the moment.</p><p>Mike leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table, wrapping both hands around his cup and smiling understandingly.  “So what is it you need to talk to me about, Bill?”</p><p>Tanner looked up again, his brow furrowed.  He looked both angry and worried, and that was not a look Mike was used to seeing from the inspector who was one of the most even-tempered men in the department.  He shook his head with an almost imperceptible shrug.  “I almost don’t even know where to start,” he said softly, then leaned forward.</p><p>Mike didn’t say a word.</p><p>“I have this friend…” Tanner began quietly.  “Marcel Taylor.  Marc.  I grew up with him in the Fillmore District.  I’ve known him since we were in grade school together… I guess he’s my best friend…”  He smiled softly to himself, remembering.  “We, ah, we went through high school together and then we went our separate ways, professionally anyway…”  He looked up at the older man and the smile got bigger.  “It’s not one of those, I went into law enforcement and he became a criminal kinda thing like they do in the movies,” he chuckled, his smile widening and Mike nodded with his own smile.  “The opposite, actually.  I went to the police academy and he went to USF and studied law.  He studied family law and he works for a big firm over on Montgomery.”  Tanner looked his boss in the eye.  “He’s good, Mike.  He’s really good… and he cares.”</p><p>“My kinda lawyer,” the older man chuckled warmly.</p><p>“Yeah…”  Tanner looked down at the cup and took a sip, as if giving himself a moment to collect himself.  “Anyway, Marc and I haven’t gotten to see each other too much over the past few years.  We’ve both been busy with our careers, and I got married… and, you know, life…. But I got a call from him this morning…. And it wasn’t a ‘let’s-catch-up, old-friend’ kinda call, if you now what I mean…?”  His head came up.</p><p>Mike nodded, his brows knitting.</p><p>Tanner exhaled slowly and looked down, both hands tight around the white porcelain cup.  “Marc is gay, Mike…. He’s always been gay, even though he wouldn’t admit it when he was a kid.  Hell, he didn’t acknowledge it, even to me, until we were in our twenties.  But I always knew… even though he dated girls and did all the macho stuff his dad wanted him to do, like playing basketball and baseball.  He even boxed for a bit when he was a teenager…”  He shook his head, snorting.  “He hid it well, but I knew.  And it didn’t bother me… he was still Marc, he was still my best friend.”</p><p>“So what happened last night?” Mike asked gently and the young inspector inhaled deeply and looked into the empathetic blue eyes.</p><p>“Marc has a boyfriend, another lawyer from another firm.  A white guy.  They have a house together.  They’re very discreet.  Nobody in either of their law firms knows about their relationship… at least that’s what Marc told me.  I hope it’s true.”  He cleared his throat and looked down.  “They, ah, they were out last night, at a gay bar just outside the Castro that they go to all the time, not too far from where they live…. It was late, about two in the morning, and they were walking home… and they got jumped.”  Tanner’s already tense grip on the coffee cup got even tighter.  “There were two of them, big white guys.  One of them pinned Marc’s friend up against a wall while the other one beat the shit out of Marc…”  Tanner’s voice wavered and he inhaled shakily.</p><p>Mike reached across the table and laid his hand on the younger man’s forearm.  “Is he okay?  Is he in the hospital?”</p><p>Looking down, Tanner shook his head.  “No, he’s, ah… he managed to get home, his friend helped him home…. He has a couple of broken ribs, he thinks, and his nose is broken and his lip is split, and he’s got a lot of cuts and bruises… but he’s gonna be okay…. I saw him.  He’s pretty bad but he’s gonna be okay…”</p><p>“Why didn’t he go to the hospital?”</p><p>“Mike, he can’t… he doesn’t want to.  If he goes to the hospital, he knows there’ll be a police report.  And if there’s a police report, he’s afraid that because of who he is, a lawyer in a prominent firm, word’ll get out that he’s gay… and he’s afraid he could lose his job.  And lose his boyfriend too…”  He paused.  “You know the way it is, Mike, you know the intolerance out there…  He doesn’t want to take that chance, so he’s just going to take a leave of absence from his job until he’s well enough to go back to work.”  He took a deep unsteady breath and tears sprung to his eyes.  “Mike, his parents don’t even know that he’s gay…”  He raised a hand and put it over his mouth; he was shaking.</p><p>Mike, whose hand was still on Tanner’s other forearm, squeezed even tighter.  He gave the younger man a few seconds to pull himself together.  “Did his friend get beaten up as well?”</p><p>Tanner shook his head, dropping his hand and pursing his lips.  “Marc said the guy that was wailing on him kept repeating ‘you black fag’ over and over again…”</p><p>Mike closed his eyes and dropped his head.  “Son of a bitch,” he whispered under his breath, gritting his teeth.  He could feel his heart pounding and he knew his hands were shaking.  After a few long seconds, he looked up; Tanner was looking at him through heartbreakingly sad eyes.  “What do you need from me, Bill?”</p><p>Tanner raised both hands, his elbows on the table, and ran them over his face.  He looked stricken.  “Marc knows who beat him up.  He’s seen him before… in a couple of the clubs in the Castro.”  He looked down for a beat, then inhaled deeply and looked up.  “He’s a cop, Mike.”</p><p># # # # #</p><p>The porch light was on, the curtains closed, when he climbed the steep concrete stairs to the wooden front door and let himself in.  The sun was well and truly down and the street was still.  He slipped the key into the lock and opened the door quietly, not wanting to disturb his daughter if she had already gone to bed.  He hadn’t had the opportunity to call to let her know he was going to be late.</p><p>The small table lamp beside the armchair was on, as was the TV.  The smell of warmed up leftover pot roast hung mouth-wateringly in the air.  Jeannie, in her pajamas and robe and under a light blanket, was lying on the couch.  She sat up sleepily as he closed the door.  “Daddy…” she smiled at him worriedly, “you’re late…. Is everything okay?”  </p><p>He tossed his keys on the small table near the door and took his hat and jacket off.  “I’m sorry, sweetheart, I should’ve called but I didn’t get the chance.  Something came up.”  He crossed wearily to the armchair and dropped into it with a heavy sigh, rubbing a hand over his tired eyes and yawning.  </p><p>“You look beat.”</p><p>“It turned out to be a lot longer day than I’d planned.”</p><p>“Anything you can talk about?”</p><p>He smiled at her lovingly and shook his head.  “Not this time, sweetheart…”</p><p>She nodded understandingly.  “Did you eat?”</p><p>He chuckled, shaking his head slightly.  “No, I didn’t.  I just spent the last three hours in a restaurant and all I did was drink coffee.”  He made a goofy face at her and shrugged.</p><p>She laughed as she got to her feet.  “It’s lucky for you you’ve got a daughter who’s prescient.”  She started to pad towards the kitchen.</p><p>Mike watched her, frowning.  “What?”</p><p>“I kept a plate warm in the oven for you, just in case.”</p><p>“You’re a lifesaver!” he called after her with a chuckle.</p><p>“Oh yeah?  What flavor?” she yelled back, laughing.</p><p>It was an old joke between them, and it made him feel warm and loved.  He laid his head against the back of the chair, his smile lingering briefly before the reality of the last few hours came flooding back again.  He turned his head slightly to took at the phone on the small table beside him.  The urge to pick it up and call his partner was almost overwhelming but there was no practical reason for doing that right now.  </p><p>No point in both of them having a sleepless night.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>There was a light rap on the door and he looked up overtop of his glasses.  Grinning, Steve took a step into the small office, shaking his head.  “No matter how early I try to get in, you’re already here.  I’d ask if you slept here last night, but you’re wearing a suit so you obviously went home.”</p><p>“Very funny, smiley.”  Mike took off his glasses and tossed them on the desk.  “No, I went home, just a lot later than I was expecting.”</p><p>Sitting in the guest chair, Steve frowned.  “What happened?”  The look the older man gave him spoke volumes, and his heart skipped a beat.  “What…?”</p><p>Mike shook his head quickly.  “Don’t worry, it’s nothing about you and me… or anything to do with this case, nothing like that.  But, ah, you and I have got to find a place to have a little talk sometime today…”</p><p>Alarmed, Steve’s frown deepened.  </p><p>Wanting to allay any fear he had inadvertently kindled, the older man smiled gently.  “Look, it’s just a… a problem that someone came to me with that I want both of us to handle… but it’s something that I want to keep between us until we can decide how we’re going to handle it… okay?”</p><p>His brow still furrowed, Steve nodded.</p><p>Mike smiled.  “Good.  Now, as for this,” he pointed to the the thick file on the desk in front of him, “I called Gerry’s office already -“</p><p>“Jeez, was anybody in yet?” Steve asked with a straight face.</p><p>Smirking, Mike continued, “- and they are going to get back to me as soon as he gets in to let us know if he can see us today.  I told his secretary we’ll need at least an hour.  So… I guess we’ll hear from them when we hear from them.”</p><p>“Okay.  So, ah, anything we can do before then?”</p><p>Mike shook his head.  “Not really.  But you can do me a favor and go through all this again,” he indicated the file, “and see if we’ve forgotten anything.”</p><p>“Sure,” Steve said with a nod as he stood, reaching across the desk to close the folder and pick it up.  He stared at his partner for a beat.  “This, ah, this thing you want to talk to me about later… is it as bad as I’m assuming it is?”</p><p>The older man stared at him expressionlessly for several very long seconds.  “Yeah…” he said simply.</p>
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<a name="section0072"><h2>72. Chapter 72</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>ADA Gerry O’Brien closed the file on his desk and sat back slowly, raising his head to look at the two patient detectives sitting in front of him.  He inhaled deeply and let it out slowly with a wry smile.  “Well, you’ve certainly put together a very solid case here.  I’ll have to study it a lot more closely, of course, but at first glance I don’t see any reason why we wouldn’t go for first degree murder with a death penalty sentence attached, that’s for sure.”  </p><p>The prosecutor’s eyes narrowed as he stared at the senior partner.  “To be honest, that surprises me, Mike.  In all the years I’ve worked here, I’ve never known you to petition for a death penalty conviction.  I didn’t think you believed in it.  So why the change of heart in this case?”</p><p>Mike, who had been holding his fedora loosely in both hands, smiled softly as he reached into his inside jacket pocket and took out a small colour photograph, handing it across the desk.  O’Brien took it with a curious frown.  “That’s little Robbie Goodman.  His own uncle decided his life wasn’t worth anything.”  He shook his head gently, biting his lips and clearing his throat.  “That’s the only reason I need.”</p><p>O’Brien looked down at the photo and stared at it silently for several long seconds before handing it back.  “Whatever I can do to help…” he said quietly and the older detective nodded his thanks.  He put his right hand on the file.  “But you do realize there is one glaring problem we have in all this, right?”</p><p>Mike nodded.  “Jane Goodman’s autopsy.”</p><p>The prosecutor tilted his head and nodded once.  “That’s right.  Everything you’ve done here,” he tapped the file, “will be for naught if we can’t get that result amended, and I don’t know how you think that can be done.  I’m pretty sure O’Donnell is not going to issue a new autopsy report just because we ask him nicely.”  He shrugged, shaking his head in doubt.</p><p>The lieutenant smiled slightly, glancing at his partner.  “Well, ah, I think we might have uncovered something that could possibly help us accomplish that.”</p><p>O’Brien’s eyes darted back and forth between the two detectives, both of them smiling enigmatically.  “What are you two up to?  Is this something I should be concerned about?”</p><p>Chuckling, Mike shook his head.  “No, Gerry, you can relax.  We’re not doing anything illegal… and it’s not even immoral.”</p><p>The lawyer threw up both hands.  “I don’t want to know!”, he said quickly, looking down at his desk and shaking his head, trying not to chuckle.  “As long as it’s legal, and it won’t come back to bite me on the ass, I don’t want to know.”</p><p>Laughing, Mike started to get to his feet.  He pointed at the file with his hat.  “We’re leaving that with you, right?”</p><p>“You bet,” O’Brien nodded, standing as well.  “I’ll go over it again with a finer toothed comb and if everything’s as solid as I think it is, I’ll take it to the D.A. and then I’ll let you fellas know what charges we’ll bring against Northcott and the other two.  How does that sound?”</p><p>Smiling, Steve reached across the desk and shook the prosecutor’s hand.  “Thanks, Gerry.”</p><p>Mike had taken a step back and was watching the younger men with a slight smile.  As Steve moved away from the desk, he stepped closer and wrapped his hand around O’Brien’s.  “This is an important one, Gerry,” he said quietly, having a hard time hiding the emotion in his tone.</p><p>O’Brien’s smile disappeared and he squeezed the other man’s hand.  “I know it is, Mike, and don’t worry, I’ll make sure that neither me, nor this department, lets you down.  You have my word.”</p><p>Mike held the lawyer’s hand for another long second, looking into his eyes.  “I know you won’t, Gerry… I know you won’t.”</p><p># # # # #</p><p>Steve shut the door to the D.A.’s office and they started down the wide marble corridor towards the elevators.  Mike put his hat on then slipped his hands into his pants pockets, looking down at the tiled floor.  His partner glanced over.  “So when do you want to talk to O’Donnell?”</p><p>The older man’s head came up.  “What?”</p><p>“I said when do you want to talk to O’Donnell?”</p><p>“Oh, ah, I guess the sooner the better.  We’re gonna have to make sure he’s not tied up with an autopsy or something like that.”  They stopped at the bank of elevators.  “I’ll call them when we get back to the office.”</p><p>Steve pressed the Down button.  “Have you decided how you’re going to approach him about it?”</p><p>Mike shrugged.  “Ah, no, actually… but I’m thinking that maybe the straightforward approach is probably the best.  I just may give him that file of research I did and let him figure it out for himself.”  He looked at the younger man with a sad facial shrug.  “I just want him to correct a wrong, I don’t want to eviscerate him.”</p><p>The elevator doors opened and they stood back as a couple of people exited; they got in the empty car and the doors closed.  Steve punched the lobby button then looked sideways at his partner, both of them leaning against the back wall.  “That’s, ah, that’s not how you felt the first time you confronted him about the Goodman ruling.”</p><p>Mike snorted mirthlessly, looking down, his hands still in his pockets.  “Well, what’s that old saying…you never really know about someone until you walk a mile in their shoes…?”</p><p>“Is that what you’ve done?” Steve asked softly.</p><p>The older man shrugged.  “Maybe not a mile but I think I understand him a little better now…”</p><p>Steve frowned, staring at his partner’s profile.  The elevator car slowed to a stop and the doors opened.  They pushed themselves away from the back wall and stepped out into the busy lobby, heading for the street and their car.  </p><p>As they stepped out into the bright Monday morning sunshine, Steve asked, “So, ah, what is it you wanted to talk to me about?”  He knew that that was what was causing his partner’s unusual reticence.</p><p>Mike glanced over and smiled.  He knew what Steve was trying to do.  “Sorry, buddy boy, my head’s not completely in the game this morning.  Listen, ah, I do want to talk to you… but I don’t want to do it at the office,” he tilted his head and raised his eyebrows, “for reasons that’ll become obvious… but I can’t let it interfere with what I have to do with O’Donnell right now.”</p><p>Steve nodded slowly.  “Okay… so, ah, when we get back to the office, you call down to the M.E.’s office and see when you can meet with O’Donnell and, if it’s not until late this afternoon, then you and I go out for lunch and we can talk about it then… how does that sound?”</p><p>The older man nodded in agreement.  “Yeah… yeah, let’s do that.”  </p><p>They had arrived at the car.  The ride back to the Hall was made in silence, Mike staring unfocused at the dashboard, almost unaware of everything around him.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>It turned out O’Donnell was away for the day, so Mike make an appointment to meet with him first thing the next morning.  Then he and Steve had left the Hall and driven to the Ferry Building where, after they bought hot dogs and drinks at a nearby stand, were sitting on wooden benches at the end of the wharf in the shadow of the Bay Bridge.</p><p>They were almost finished their meal before the older man finally spoke.  “So, ah, Bill came to see me yesterday…”</p><p>“Tanner?”</p><p>Mike nodded.  “Yeah.  He, ah, he has this friend…”  For the next couple of minutes he told his partner about the friendship that had started in childhood between Bill Tanner and Marc Taylor, about Taylor’s success as a family law attorney, and his hidden sexual orientation.  He talked of the beating that had taken place the past Saturday night, and of Taylor’s justifiable reluctance to go to the hospital, with the very real chance that the secret that would destroy his life could be revealed.  It was an untenable situation, and one that no human being should have to face.</p><p>Steve had listened silently, rapt and disturbed, as his partner spoke quietly and elegantly.  Then he asked, “Does Bill want us to find out who did it?”</p><p>Mike shook his head, looking down at the can of ginger ale he was holding in both hands.  After a long beat, he looked up.  “He knows who did it.”</p><p>“Bill knows who did it?”  Steve’s brow had furrowed.</p><p>His partner nodded.  “He said you do too.”</p><p>“I do?”  There was a split second of fear and trepidation in his voice.  “Who was it?”</p><p>“Darren Burke.”</p><p>Steve sat back sharply.  “Darren Burke… the training sergeant…?”</p><p>Mike nodded, briefly closing his eyes.</p><p>The younger man looked stunned.  “You’re bullshitting me, right…?”  There was genuine shock and disbelief in his voice.<br/>“I wish I was, but Bill said Marc is a hundred percent sure.  He’s seen him before, at a couple of gay bars in The Castro.  He knows who he is.  It seems a lot of people in the gay community know who he is… but they keep their mouths shut.”</p><p>Steve slumped, lowering his head.  “Oh my god…” he breathed.  There were several long silent seconds while he digested this staggering new information.  “Who else knows about Saturday night?”</p><p>“Other than Marc and his boyfriend, and Bill… and now you and me…?  No one,” Mike shook his head slowly.  Then he tilted his head and frowned.  “How well do you know him?”</p><p>Steve shrugged softly.  “Not well at all.  He’s more an acquaintance.  I never rode with him but a couple of my academy buddies did.  But I saw him around a lot, and I’ve had drinks a couple of times with him when a bunch of us went out towards the end of our training.”  He frowned.  “Do you know him?”</p><p>Mike shook his head sharply.  “No, never met him.  Our paths have never crossed.  What do you remember about him?”</p><p>With a facial shrug, Steve bobbled his head slightly.  “Not much.  I remember he’s a big guy.  Not as tall as you but he’s built, like he lifts weights.  And I remember he’s, ah…” he smiled wryly, “let’s say he’s full of himself.  I know he’s considered one of the best training officers the department’s got, and he flaunts it, if you know what I mean…”</p><p>“Yeah, I do.  Did you know he was gay?”</p><p>His eyes wide, Steve shook his head.  “Definitely not.  As a matter of fact, now that I’m thinking back, I remember there was this one time at the bar when he groped one of the waitresses and she slapped him.  It was a big scene.  But now, in hindsight, it seemed, I don’t know… clumsy, you know, like it was forced…”  He looked at the older man and snorted.  “The son of a bitch…”</p><p>Mike sighed loudly with a dry chuckle.  “What’s that Shakespeare quote?  ‘Methinks he doth protest too much…’?”  He sat back, dropping his hands into his lap and staring unfocused at the water.  </p><p>Steve watched him for a few beats then asked quietly, “So how do you want to handle it?”</p><p>The older man made a face.  His eyebrows rose as he lifted his head and shrugged.  “Damned if I know right now.”  He stared at his young partner.  “Look, ah, I told Bill I was going to bring you in on this but, buddy boy, you don’t have to be a part of it if you, you know, if you don’t feel comfortable -“</p><p>“Mike,” the younger man said sharply and watched as his best friend’s head went back slightly, his mouth snapping closed in surprise.  Steve smiled.  “Of course I’m with you on this,” he continued softly.  “I’m not going to let you take on Burke and his goon buddy all by yourself.  Besides, who better to approach Burke as a friend than someone who actually knows him…?”  Smiling knowingly, Steve lifted his Coke and took a sip, staring at his proud but worried partner over the rim of the can.</p>
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<a name="section0073"><h2>73. Chapter 73</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jeannie was in the small backyard, making sure the charcoal briquettes were heating evenly in the Weber grill, when her father came through the front door.  He closed it with a heavy sigh, moving quietly to his armchair and sitting slowly.  Not bothering to remove his hat, he laid the back of his head against the seat and closed his eyes.  He could hear the back door close and his daughter bustling around the kitchen, humming to herself.  He smiled.</p><p>He wasn’t sure how much time had passed before he heard her tiny squeal of surprise and he jerked awake to see her standing in the kitchen doorway, staring at him through wide eyes.</p><p>“I didn’t hear you come in,” she almost spat out as she crossed towards him, frowning.</p><p>He grinned up at her as she approached.  “I didn’t tiptoe… I think you were in the back yard.”</p><p>Her brow remained furrowed as her features softened.  “You look beat, Daddy.”</p><p>He exhaled loudly.  “I am beat…”</p><p>She sat on the arm of the chair.  “Rough day?”</p><p>He nodded.  “Yeah,” he admitted softy, looking down.  “Not… physically, you know, just, ah…”  He looked up at her and shrugged, shaking his head.</p><p>She reached out and took his hat off.  “Well, dinner is ready when you are… there’s no rush.  I got us some steaks and the coals are heating up.  Why don’t you go get changed and then come back down here and relax and I’ll get you a nice cold beer.  How does that sound?”</p><p>The blue eyes that were staring at her were filled with so much love that she bit her lip, trying to swallow past the lump that had suddenly formed at the back of her throat.  He reached around her and pulled her down on top of him on the chair, chuckling, and she giggled as she melted into him, her head against his chest.  She could feel him kiss the top of her head.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>A thick manila file folder in his left hand, Mike walked down the narrow corridor towards the Chief Medical Examiner’s office.  The door was closed.  He glanced at his watch, hesitating a beat before he knocked, wanting to make sure he was precisely on time.</p><p>“Come in!” came the gruff voice from the other side of the door.</p><p>He set his expression before he opened the door.  John O’Donnell, wearing a white lab coat, was sitting behind the metal desk signing forms; the look he shot towards the door was a combination of hubris and annoyance.  Mike chose to ignore it as he approached the desk and laid the folder down, then took off the fedora and set it on the desk as well.</p><p>“You asked to see me, Lieutenant?”  There was no inflection in the deep voice but Mike could hear the contempt.  </p><p>“Yes.”  Without waiting to be asked, Mike sat in the guest chair.  “Over the last three months, my partner and I have been able to shed some light on the murders of the Goodman family.”  He paused, making sure he had the coroner’s full attention.  “You remember them, don’t you?  The murder-suicide that you ruled on?”</p><p>Pursing his lips, O’Donnell tossed the pen on the desk and sat back, crossing his arms.  His eyes narrowed behind the dark-rimmed glasses.  “I remember.”</p><p>Mike smiled coldly and perfunctorily.  “I thought you might.”  He picked up the file, opened it, turned it around and tossed it back on the desk closer to the M.E.  “Well, guess what?  It turns out the wife… Jane Goodman?  Turns out she didn’t do it after all.  She didn’t kill her husband and her eighteen-month-old son and then herself… like you said she did.”  </p><p>O’Donnell continued to stare at the detective, refusing to even glance down at the file.  </p><p>Mike wasn’t fazed.  “It turns out her brother did it.  Well, he didn’t pull the trigger, a man named Eugene Hayes did that.  Hell, her brother - his name is Walter Northcott, by the way - he wasn’t even there, but he arranged it and he paid for it.  But there was another man there that night, a man named Peter Turnbull.”  He flipped a couple of pages in the file.  “Three men.  Three men were responsible for the Goodman family murders, not Jane Goodman.  She was a victim.”  He tapped the file; Jane Goodman’s photo was visible.</p><p>O’Donnell’s eyes flicked down and his lips tightened but he didn’t say anything.</p><p>“They’re in custody, the three men responsible for the murders.  We even have the gun - the gun you said was removed from the crime scene ‘by person or persons unknown’.  You remember writing that, I’m sure.  You were right, it was removed from the crime scene… but not in the way you described.  The murderer took it with him when he left the house.”  The blue eyes were turning cold and angry and Mike checked himself.  “So we come to the reason I’m here. The D.A. would like to charge them as soon as possible.  But, ah, I believe you know the little problem he’s going to have doing that.”</p><p>Slowly and deliberately, Mike sat back in the metal chair and crossed his legs.  “It’s all in there.  Every sordid little detail of the cold-blooded murders of Charles, Jane and Robbie Goodman.  You remember little Robbie, right, the baby who died when a bullet went through the back of his skull.  You did the autopsy yourself, if I remember correctly.”  He reached into his inside jacket pocket and took the photo out, leaning across the desk to place it very deliberately overtop of the photo of the young boy’s mother.  “I’ve been carrying that with me every day since I got the case… so I wouldn’t forget…”</p><p>O’Donnell stared down at the photo but his expression didn’t change.</p><p>Mike smiled slightly.  “The name Northcott didn’t ring a bell with you when I mentioned it just now?”</p><p>O’Donnell raised his head slowly and leaned back in the chair almost contemptuously.  “Should it?”</p><p>Mike bobbled his head with a facial shrug, crossing his arms.  “Well, maybe not.  I guess you’ve done hundreds of autopsies in your career - you can’t be expected to remember all the names.”  He shrugged again.  “Eileen Northcott was a woman who lived in L.A.  About four years ago, you did an autopsy on her too.  She was found in her house with a nylon stocking tied around her neck and hanging from a doorknob in her bedroom.  She had a history of mental illness.  So you ruled her death a suicide.”</p><p>He uncrossed his arms, dropping his clasped hands down between his knees.  “Eileen Northcott was Jane Goodman’s and Walter Northcott’s mother.  And guess what?  She didn’t die by her own hand.  She was murdered by the same Eugene Hayes that killed the Goodman family.  He made it look like a suicide… and you bought it.  But Walter Northcott arranged for that murder too… his own mother…”</p><p>For the first time, Mike thought he saw O’Donnell’s mask of indifference slip just a tiny bit.  Empowered, he pressed on, pointing at the file.  “That’s all in there as well.”</p><p>Leaning forward, his elbows on his knees, he dropped his head and took a deep breath.  “For the past three months I’ve been trying to figure out why you were so quick to attribute the deaths of the Goodman family to a murder-suicide, and blaming the woman because her family had a history of mental illness.  And I found out that it was true about Eileen Northcott, that she did have emotional problems and had attempted suicide at one point in her life… but that wasn’t how she died, not at her own hand, it turned out.  And her mental problems were not passed on to her daughter, no matter what you said in your autopsy… we know that now for sure…”</p><p>He looked up; O’Donnell was staring at him, a look of apprehension clouding his features.</p><p>“So I did what I was trained to do,” Mike continued almost conversationally, “I did a little digging.  Turns out it didn’t take as long as I thought it would, thanks to the miracle of microfiche.”  He chuckled softly and watched as the bushy eyebrows of the coroner drew together in consternation.  </p><p>Mike paused and his smile vanished.  “I talked to Jean Monroe,” he said softly and O’Donnell’s eyes widened perceptibly as he froze, his expression unreadable as he stared at the unruffled homicide lieutenant.</p><p>Mike let the silence lengthen for several long seconds before he continued.  “She told me about your parents, about your dad.  He was a doctor too, she said, a small town GP.  She told me how she was daddy’s pet because she was a girl but you were the apple of his eye.  You wanted to be just like him… a respected doctor.</p><p>“The whole town loved him, she said, he was trusted more than the sheriff and the mayor, even the minister.  But the town didn’t know him like you did, like she did.  The town didn’t see the mood swings, the anger, the whippings and the beatings… the things hidden behind closed doors.  The mental illness…”</p><p>O’Donnell swallowed heavily and looked down.</p><p>“Jean told me about your mother, how for years she’d endured the hell of a life lived with a manic-depressive, with someone everybody else saw as a hero but she knew was really a monster.  She told me about the affair your mother had… her sad, pathetic attempt to find some love in a world that had become lonely and cruel.”</p><p>Mike dropped his head and inhaled deeply.  “Jean said you hated your mother for doing that, for betraying the man you still saw as a paragon, as the role model you wanted… you needed.  She told me you were away at university when it happened, when you father snapped.  When he came home early one day and found your mother in bed with the other man…”  He looked up.  O’Donnell had squeezed his eyes closed, his mouth a thin line, his lips trembling.</p><p>“Your sister found them, didn’t she?  Your mother and her lover in your parents bed, your father in the living room in his favorite armchair, the gun on the floor beside him.  It was a pretty open-and-shut case… a murder-suicide.  But you couldn’t have that… you couldn’t have your father’s reputation ruined.  You idolized him…”  He paused, breathing heavily, trying to contain his growing anger.  </p><p>He shook his head slowly.  “I don’t know how you did it, but I know you did.  I know you got the county coroner to rule that, indeed, it was a murder-suicide, but it was your mother that was the murderer, not your father….”</p><p>O’Donnell opened his eyes and Mike looked straight into them.  “I read the newspaper article.  There’s a copy of it in there.”  He pointed at the file.  “It says your father surprised your mother and her lover, he got his gun intending just to scare them but he and the lover got into a fight, the gun went off and the lover was killed.  In a panic, your father dropped the gun and retreated into the living room.  Enraged, your mother picked it up and followed him and shot him, and then, in the throes of despair, she laid back down in the bed beside her dead lover and shot herself.”  He shook his head.  ”That’s quite a story.  What’s that old adage… about not believing everything you read…?”</p><p>He snorted in disgust, shaking his head and looking down.  “I know you idolized your father, but did you really hate your mother that much…?  Your own mother…?”  He got slowly to his feet, picking up the fedora as he loomed over the desk.  “How many women over the years have you made pay for what your father did?”</p><p>O’Donnell’s nostrils flared as he glared at the defiant lieutenant but he didn’t say anything.</p><p>With a sigh laced with revulsion, Mike reached across the desk and picked up the small photo of Robbie Goodman.  Putting it back in his pocket, he took a step towards the door then turned back.  “Don’t allow Jane Goodman to suffer the same fate your mother did.  Don’t allow her good name to be dragged through the mud for something she didn’t do.  If it’s the last thing you do as a medical examiner - and I certainly hope it is the last thing you do - clear her name.”</p><p>Mike opened the door, stopped and looked back once more.  “Because I’m not the only one that knows the truth about your parents.”  He closed the door behind him, standing stockstill for a long beat before he put his hat on and started down the corridor.  By the time he got to the elevator, his legs were weak and his hands were trembling.</p>
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<a name="section0074"><h2>74. Chapter 74</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Steve looked up from the report he was reading as his partner entered the bullpen, hat in hand, and walked towards his office without a sideways glance, preoccupied.  As the younger man watched, Mike hung the fedora on the coat rack, closed the door then circled the desk to sit, looking down.</p><p>With a worried frown, Steve got up and crossed to the inner office door.  He knocked softly and briefly, not waiting for a reply before opening it quietly, stepping into the room and closing it again.  Mike didn’t look up.</p><p>“How did it go?” the younger man asked quietly, slipping into the guest chair.</p><p>Inhaling deeply, Mike raised his head and met the concerned green eyes staring at him across the desk.  After a brief beat, he shrugged and shook his head.  “I don’t know.  I really don’t know.  He was… very quiet.  But he listened… he really listened.  As to whether he actually heard me or not, well, that’s another matter altogether…”  He raised his hands and held them out in front of him; both of them could see the slight tremor.  Snorting self-consciously, Mike laced his fingers and lowered his hands to the desk, looking down and taking a deep breath.</p><p>Steve cleared his throat lightly.  “Listen, ah, I know it’s too early for lunch… but why don’t you and I get out of here for a bit.  Maybe go to the Park and take a walk around the lake.  What do you say?”</p><p>Mike raised his head slowly, knowing exactly what his partner was trying to do, and a small, very appreciative smile curled his lips.</p><p>Steve bobbed his eyebrows and grinned.  “I’ll drive.”</p><p>The older man sighed slowly and shook his head, chuckling, his smile growing a little wider.  “You bet you will.”</p><p># # # # #</p><p>It was a gloriously sunny day, with the just enough heat for Mike to doff his jacket but not enough to unbutton his vest.  They were both wearing dark glasses.  They had yet to say a word since they had walked to the paved path after leaving the car on the shoulder of the ring road.</p><p>Steve was taking full advantage of the late summer day, watching with pleasure the many comely young women walking or jogging past, successfully ignoring the handsome young men that were usually accompanying them.</p><p>Mike noticed none of it.  His arms were folded, his coat draped over them, and he was looking down at the pavement.</p><p>They were almost three-quarters of the way around the lake when Steve said quietly, “Look, ah, why don’t we find some place to have lunch and then I’ll take you home and you can spend the rest of the day with Jeannie?”</p><p>Mike snorted with a gentle laugh, smiling warmly at the young man walking beside him.  “Oh, I like the sound of that, buddy boy, but I’ve got too much to do.  This whole Goodman thing isn’t over yet, and I’ve still got to figure out how to handle the Darren Burke problem, and you know I do my best thinking at work…  Besides, I want to be in the office in case Gerry calls.  But I appreciate the suggestion, believe me.”  He chuckled, reaching out to grip the back of his partner’s neck, shaking him gently then leaving his hand on Steve’s shoulder for several long beats as they continued to walk.  “But I tell you what… let’s go to Mama’s for lunch and I’ll spring for it.”</p><p># # # # #</p><p>The phone tucked under his left ear against his shoulder, Steve glanced towards the inner office; Mike was busy on his own phone.  “Ah, yeah, hi, Jeannie, it’s Steve…. No no, everything’s fine here, Mike just had a busy morning…. Yeah, yeah he did…. I don’t know.  He said O’Donnell listened but he said he didn’t know.  Listen, ah, the reason I’m calling, I know you’re heading back to school next Monday but I was kinda hoping the three of us could take in another ballgame before you go…. Yeah, that’s what I was thinking too…. Yeah, could you do that and I’ll pay you back?…. That would be great, thanks…. No, don’t tell him, I want it to be a surprise.  I know he’s a big Willie Stargell fan so that would be great.”  He glanced over his shoulder again; Mike had hung up.  “Ah, listen, I gotta go.  Let me know what you can do.  Okay, thanks.”  He hung up, casually picking up a form and threading it into the typewriter as the inner office door opened and Mike, in shirtsleeves, his reading glasses on, crossed to his desk and sunk into the guest chair.</p><p>Steve swivelled his chair to face him, eyebrows raised expectantly.  </p><p>“That was Gerry.  He hasn’t heard anything from O’Donnell yet so he hasn’t gone to the D.A. yet.”  He took off his glasses and rubbed both hands over his face, digging his fingers into his eyes.  He sighed heavily.  “I’m beginning to wonder if I did the right thing this morning…”</p><p>“Of course you did.  What O’Donnell did was unconscionable and he should be called out for it.  If he has an ounce of decency left, he’ll know the right thing to do.  It just may take some time.”</p><p>Mike was staring at him with a soft smile.  “And what if he doesn’t?”</p><p>Steve grinned.  “Don’t underestimate yourself… he’ll come around.”</p><p>The older man shook his head slowly, looking down.  “I sure hope you’re right…”</p><p>“Hey, ah,” Steve said with renewed vigour, “that other problem we have…?”  Mike’s head came up.  “I have an idea.”</p><p>“Not here,” the lieutenant said quickly, glancing over his shoulder towards his office.  Nodding, Steve got to his feet.  Mike smiled as he stood.  “Come into my parlour, said the spider to the fly,” he chuckled as he crossed back to the office.</p><p>Laughing, Steve followed him.  “Well, that doesn’t sound the least bit disturbing,” he chortled, secretly pleased that his partner seemed to be coming out of his funk.</p><p>They were still laughing when Steve closed the door and they both sank into their respective seats.  Smiling, Mike leaned forward, his hands clasped and forearms against the edge of the desk.  “So what’s your idea?”</p><p>Steve leaned forward as well, his elbows on his knees.  “Well, I did a little calling around this morning - discreetly, of course,” he assured quickly, raising both hands, “and it seems that Burke still frequents the same bar I told you about on Saturday nights with the recruits.  So I was thinking I’d call up some of my old academy buddies and suggest a ‘reunion’ this Saturday night at our old haunt.”</p><p>Mike’s smile had disappeared, replaced by a slight frown and pursed lips, listening patiently.</p><p>“Now, I think - and I hope you agree with me - that we should take our time with this.  The beat-down on Bill’s friend is still very fresh and if suddenly a couple of cops he really doesn’t know start getting all up in Burke’s face, he’s gonna get suspicious.  So I can just show up at the bar on Saturday night and if I run into him then fine… and if I don’t, just as fine, and we’ll figure out some other plan of attack.  What do you think?”</p><p>The older man didn’t move for a couple of seconds then he started to nod slowly.  “Well, that sounds like a good first step.”  He stared at the younger man strangely for a long second and Steve sat back slightly.</p><p>“I know that look,” he said, frowning.  “You want to ask me something but you think you might be stepping over that unwritten line… right?”</p><p>There was a brief pause before Mike said flatly, “God I hate it when you do that.”  They both chuckled.  “But you’re right, so I’ll just ask.  Do you know if any of your friends are… gay?”  The last word came out almost breathlessly, with a hint of regret for even asking.</p><p>Steve smiled understandingly, knowing that sexual orientation was not an easy subject for the older generation, even in San Francisco.  But one of the things he’d learned in the four years they had been partners was that the lieutenant was remarkably sanguine about something that set most other older cops teeth on edge.  “Well, my circle of friends has shrunk considerably since I started in homicide, as you well know.  This job is certainly not conducive to a broad and diverse social life.”  He punctuated the statement with a smirk and was rewarded with a wry smile and a roll of the eyes from the man across the desk.</p><p>“Point taken.  But…?”</p><p>“But…” Steve continued pedantically, “a couple of guys I hung around with at Berkeley were definitely… leaning that way, let’s say.”  He frowned.  “Why?”</p><p>Mike dropped his head and ran a hand over his hair, idly scratching the back of his head, a move that Steve knew was a stalling tactic.  “Well, I thought maybe you could talk to them about… well, maybe if they’d come across someone like Burke in their lives, someone who’s gay but… you know…?”</p><p>Steve stared at the other man with a soft smile, knowing how difficult this was for him.  “You mean ask them if they know of someone who’s self-loathing…?  Like Roy Cohn?”</p><p>Mike scrunched his face up.  “Roy Cohn?  Joe McCarthy’s Ray Cohn?”</p><p>His eyebrows up, Steve nodded.  “That’s the rumor.  Hoover too.”</p><p>“Oh, well, everyone’s heard that one, but Cohn…?”  HIs focus turned inwards for a beat and he snorted.  “Anyway… no, I didn’t mean self-loathing…. I meant if…”  He stopped and exhaled loudly, his shoulders sagging.  “I don’t know what I mean…. Maybe it is self-loathing, I don’t know…”  He shrugged.</p><p>Steve stared at him for a couple of long seconds then nodded slowly and gently.  “It’s okay, I know what you mean.”</p><p>Mike smiled and looked down.  “I’m sorry, I’m just having a hard time being articulate right now.  It’s like my brain is running at half speed…”  He dropped his head into his right hand, rubbing his eyes.</p><p>The younger man’s stare narrowed.  “Listen, ah, why don’t I take you home?”</p><p>Mike sat back sharply.  “No!  No, I’m… I’m fine, I just…”  He snorted, shaking his head and smiling self-consciously.  He looked down again, raising his right hand as if groping for the words he needed.  “I know this whole Goodman thing has just… consumed me for so long now…  And it’s so close to being over for us.  I mean, I know it’s going to probably be at least a year until it goes to trial, but for us, for you and me… we’ve got the end in sight, if O’Donnell changes the autopsy….  It’s so close… so close… and I just can’t concentrate on anything else until it’s over.”  He smiled apologetically.</p><p>Steve nodded gently.  “I understand,” he said softly.</p><p>Mike’s eyes brightened suddenly and he cleared his throat self-consciously.  “I just want to be here in case…”  He gestured vaguely towards the phone.  “Anyway, ah,” he started again in an attempt at changing the subject, “ah, why don’t you run with that idea of yours about getting some of your academy buddies together at the bar this Saturday?  That’s sounds like a good idea… and if I can ever get my head back in the game again, maybe we can do some brainstorming before then, what do you say?”</p><p>Steve smiled, though his eyes remained hooded and worried.  “You got it.”  He got up and headed back to his desk.  Mike watched him go, his own smile fading slowly as he leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>It was close to 6 p.m. when the phone on Mike’s desk rang.  Steve, who was on his own phone, stared through the glass-wall of the inner office as he watched his partner take the very short call.  Mike hung up then sat back for a beat, staring at the phone without moving, then he shot to his feet and circled the desk to the coat rack, slipping on his jacket and picking up his hat.</p><p>He opened the door, dropping the hat carelessly on his head as he adjusted the jacket across his shoulders.  He took a couple of steps into the bullpen, doing up his collar button and tightening his tie; Steve put his hand over the mouthpiece of the receiver under his ear and looked up expectantly.  “That was Gerry.  He wants to see me.”</p><p>“Now?”</p><p>“Yeah.  It’s about O’Donnell.”  The look he shot his partner was laced with uncertainty and dread.  “Ah, listen, ah, you might as well go on home.  You don’t have to wait.”</p><p>Steve sat up abruptly.  “Ah, no, look, I’ll drive you.“  He took his hand off the mouthpiece.  “I’ll call you back,” he said quickly and hung up.</p><p>“It’s okay, I can drive myself,” Mike said with an appreciative nod and a smile as headed for the bullpen door. </p><p>Steve got up quickly, grabbing his jacket off the back of his chair and jogging to catch up.  “No, Mike, I want to come,” he insisted as he caught up with his partner in the corridor just outside Homicide. </p><p>The older man stopped briefly and turned to face him with a warm and grateful smile, nodding quickly.  “Okay.  Thanks, buddy boy…”</p><p>“You’re welcome,” Steve said with a smile as they strode side by side to the elevators.</p>
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<a name="section0075"><h2>75. Chapter 75</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They entered the outer office and passed the empty secretary’s desk to the large dark wooden door.  His hat in his hand, Mike glanced at his partner before he knocked lightly.  Steve could see the worry on the older man’s face as they heard, “Come in!” from the other side of the door.  Taking a deep breath, Mike turned the knob and they stepped into the large office.</p><p>ADA Gerry O’Brien looked up from behind the desk and smiled.  “Wow, it didn’t take you two long to get here,” he chuckled.</p><p>Mike smiled and pointed at his young companion with his hat.  “He was driving.”</p><p>Laughing, O’Brien gestured them towards the two overstuffed chairs in front of the desk.  The detectives sat; Mike tossed his hat on the desk.  “So, ah, we all know why we’re here so I’ll just cut to the chase, so to speak.”  With a slight smile, he picked up a few papers stapled together and handed them across the desk to Mike, who was searching the ADA’s face for any clues as he took them.</p><p>Steve glanced over and he could tell from the top page it was an autopsy report.  Mike’s eyes flew down the first page; he flipped it over and scanned the second one.  Then he froze, fixated on one spot.  His face unreadable, he looked up at O’Brien, who was staring at him with a slight smile.  Mike swallowed heavily.  “He changed it…”</p><p>The lawyer nodded, continuing to smile.  “Yes, he did.”</p><p>Slowly, as if not believing what he had seen, Mike turned to face his partner.  “He changed it to ‘Homicide’,” he confirmed softly.</p><p>Steve smiled, a lump forming in the back of his throat.</p><p>O’Brien chuckled.  “I don’t know what you said to him this morning but whatever it was, it had the desired effect.”  He grinned.  “Congratulations, Mike, you did it.”</p><p>Still looking slightly stunned, the lieutenant looked down at the papers in his hands once again, shaking his head slightly.  He exhaled slowly and loudly.  Finally he found his voice.  “So, ah, so what’s next?”</p><p>The ADA shrugged happily.  “Well, first thing tomorrow morning, I have a meeting with the D.A. and we file formal charges against Walter Northcott for three counts of first degree murder with a recommendation for the death penalty.”</p><p>Mike, who was staring the attorney almost without blinking, nodded slowly.</p><p>“Now, you know as well as anybody that the wheels of justice grind exceedingly slowly, as that hoary old saying goes, so we probably won’t go to trial for several months and maybe even a year, but we will, Mike, we will, don’t worry.  Northcott will finally get to pay for everything he’s done.”</p><p>When Mike didn’t say anything immediately, Steve glanced at him then asked, “What about the other two?”</p><p>“Well, because deals were made with both of them, we’re going for second degree, with a recommendation for the maximum - forty years.”</p><p>Both men looked at Mike, who still hadn’t moved.  Steve cleared his throat softly.  “It’s too bad we couldn’t nail them for the murder of Northcott’s mother as well…” he said softly.</p><p>“That would be sweet,” O’Brien agreed, “but even though there’s no statute of limitations on murder, it is in another jurisdiction.  And getting her body exhumed and getting either O’Donnell to change that ruling as well, or get a new coroner to reverse the original finding would be a huge gamble, I think.  If we can put all three away for the Goodman murders, I’ll think we’ll have done our due diligence.”</p><p>Steve nodded, agreeing.  </p><p>Mike slowly flipped the top page of the autopsy report back into place and set the papers on the desk.  He looked at O’Brien.  “Thanks, Gerry,” he said quietly with a soft smile.</p><p>The lawyer grinned as he sat forward and picked the report up.  “No, thank you, Mike.  This was all your doing, you know that.  I wouldn’t be taking this case to the D.A, tomorrow if you’d given up on it.  This one’s for you, and it will be my pleasure to be the one that puts them away for what we can all hope will be for the rest of their lives.”</p><p>Mike looked down at his hands in his lap, nodding almost absent-mindedly, then looked up and smiled.  “Thanks.”  He reached for his hat, starting to stand.  </p><p>Steve got to his feet.  They had just reached the door when O’Brien stopped them.  “Uh, that’s not all.”</p><p>They turned back, both frowning.  O’Brien picked up another piece of paper from his blotter and held it out.  Mike stepped back to the desk and took it, holding it so they could both read.<br/>Steve’s head came up first.</p><p>“Is this for real?”</p><p>O’Brien nodded soberly.  “At the risk of repeating myself, I don’t know what you said to him, Mike, but it definitely hit home.”</p><p>Mike raised his head; he looked shell-shocked.  “When does this take effect?” he asked quietly, raising the paper slightly.</p><p>“Immediately.  He’s already notified the Chief, the Mayor and my boss.  It’s a done deal.  He'll be gone tomorrow.”</p><p>Both younger men were staring at the lieutenant, not really sure how he was taking the news.  Steve glanced at O’Brien and shook his head almost imperceptibly with a very faint facial shrug.  The ADA’s brow furrowed.</p><p>His expression unreadable, Mike took a step closer to the desk again and put the paper down.  He looked at O’Brien and smiled briefly.  “Thanks, Gerry, for everything.  Let me know what the D.A. says tomorrow, okay?”</p><p>Confused, his frown deepening, O’Brian nodded warily.  “Uh, yeah, sure, Mike, no problem…”. He glanced at Steve; the inspector shrugged slightly again as Mike turned and moved to the door.</p><p>Without a word, Mike opened the door and led his partner past the secretary’s desk and into the empty hallway towards the elevators, his hand in his hand.  His focus seemed far away.  Steve punched the Down button, casting quick glances in the older man’s direction.  </p><p># # # # #</p><p>They got into the car in silence, Mike looking down, still unfocused.  As the LTD pulled away from the curb, Steve glanced across the front seat.  “Hey, ah, before I take us home, I want to make a little stop, okay?”</p><p>A million miles away, Mike nodded automatically.  “Sure…” he mumbled.</p><p>A half-hour later he was still silent, still looking down when the tan LTD drove through the tall grey arch that marked the entrance to the Colma cemetery.  Steve had pulled a small piece of paper out of his jacket pocket and was glancing back and forth from it to the narrow roads winding through the lush green grass that stretched out as far as the eye could see, it seemed.</p><p>The car eventually pulled to the side of the pavement.  He turned off the engine then looked at his partner, who still seemed unaware of his surroundings.  Steve cleared his throat and Mike’s head came up, looking first at his partner and then through the windshield, surprised.  “Where are we?”</p><p>“Cypress Lawn,” Steve said gently with a soft smile.  He pointed out his own side window.  “They’re buried just over there.”  Mike looked in the direction indicated.  “I thought you might want to tell them yourself.”</p><p>Suddenly Mike’s face crumbled.  Tears sprang to his eyes and he brought his left hand up to cover his mouth as he began to shake.  He gasped for breath, groping for the handle and opening the door.  </p><p>As Steve watched, biting his own lip to keep from crying, Mike circled the car and started unsteadily across the thick green grass, his head down as his eyes scanned the grave markers for the three he wanted.  He stopped suddenly, slowly reaching up to take his fedora off.  He stood very still with his head down for a long time; Steve knew he was praying.</p><p>Eventually he raised his head slightly and put the hat back on, then very slowly he dropped to his knees and his whole body began to shake.  </p><p>Fighting back his own tears, Steve, his heart breaking, watched as his closest friend released all the anger and grief and frustration that had been building up inside him for the past three very difficult months.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>The sun had started to go down before Mike, who had been sitting on the grass, his arms wrapped around his upraised knees, pushed himself slowly and stiffly to his feet and walked back to the car.  He got in and shut the door without looking across the front seat. </p><p>As Steve reached for the key, he heard a quiet, “Thanks, buddy boy…”  With a smile and acknowledging nod, he started the car.</p><p>They drove back to The City in silence.  It was dark when the sedan pulled to the curb on Union.  When the engine shut off, Mike raised his head and looked out the side window.  “What are we doing here?” he asked softly.</p><p>Steve smiled.  “You didn’t think I was just going to drop you off at home, did you?  We haven’t eaten since lunch… and I really don’t think you want to talk much tonight… so we won’t.”</p><p>Mike had looked away, his raw emotions bubbling just below the surface.  Steve could see his bottom lip begin to tremble again and he reached out to put his hand on the back of the older man’s neck, squeezing.  “Come on, let’s go in.”</p><p>Nodding, Mike got out of the car.  Smiling to himself, Steve did the same.  He knew he was doing the right thing.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>Mike lowered himself slowly onto the couch and leaned his head back, closing his eyes.  Watching him with a soft smile, Steve took his jacket off and slipped his unknotted tie from around his neck, laying both on the steps leading to second floor.  As he started to undo his cuff buttons and roll up his sleeves, heading towards the kitchen, he said, “I’ll call for a pizza.  Make yourself comfortable and I’ll be right back.”</p><p>Mike could hear his partner dialling the phone in kitchen and the muffled ordering of a pizza amidst the sounds of cupboard and fridge doors being opened and closed.  Wearily, reluctant to move, he kicked off his shoes and struggled out of his jacket.  He pulled his tie off and stuffed it in a jacket pocket then started to roll his sleeves up.  He got up, picked up his shoes and carried everything to the door, dropping his shoes and hanging his jacket in the small closet near the door.  He was halfway back to the couch before he remembered his hat, pausing briefly before deciding to leave it on.  He returned to the couch, undoing the vest as he sat.</p><p>Steve reappeared with a big grin, crossing quickly to the coffee table, two champagne flutes in one hand and a chilled bottle of Veuve Clicquot in the other.  He put the glasses on the table.</p><p>Mike was frowning.  “What the hell…?”</p><p>Grinning, Steve untwisted the cage on the top of the large green bottle with the distinctive yellow label and slipped it off the cork.  “Well, I knew this moment was going to come eventually… and I wanted to be ready.”  He put the cage on the table, holding the bottom of the bottle with one hand and the cork with the other.  His smile disappeared.  “Mike, what you did today… what you’ve done these past three months… not giving up… There are no words to describe it, really.  But for me it was a master class in how to be a detective… and an exemplary human being.”</p><p>He held the cork and turned the bottle and the cork slid out with a satisfyingly soft pop.  Putting the cork on the table, he leaned over and carefully poured the amber liquid into the two flutes.  He set the bottle down and picked up both glasses, holding one out.</p><p>Looking stunned and overwhelmed, Mike reached out and took the proffered glass.  Smiling warmly, Steve held his own glass up.  He grinned.  “To someone I couldn’t be more proud to call my partner,” he said with a gentle laugh and a wink.</p><p>Trying to find his voice, Mike cleared his throat, his eyes brightening as he attempted a smile.  He raised his glass a little higher.  “I couldn’t have done it without you,” he said quietly.</p><p>Steve snorted and rolled his eyes theatrically.  “Bullshit,” he laughed as he clinked his glass against the other, his entire face alight with love and laughter.  Then, looking straight into his best friends eyes, he let his smile fade away.  “To the Goodmans,” he said solemnly.</p><p>Mike stared at him gratefully.  He took a deep, steadying breath then nodded.  Then they both clinked glasses again and took a sip.</p>
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<a name="section0076"><h2>76. Chapter 76</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“You know,” Mike said slowly and thickly, raising his right forefinger in the air and turning to the armchair where Steve was sitting.  He froze, his finger still in the air, when he noticed the chair was empty.  He blinked heavily.  “Where’d he go…?” he mumbled to himself, looking around.</p><p>“I’m down here,” came a familiar voice from the other side of the coffee table.  A hand holding a champagne flute came into view.  “Keep talking, I can hear you…”</p><p>Frowning, the older man raised himself on the couch slightly, catching a partial glimpse of his partner lying on his back on the rug.  “Okay…”  Mike lowered himself, chuckling softly as he stared at the empty green bottle on the coffee table.  He looked down at the almost empty flute in his own hand.  “I was going to say, it probably might have been a good idea to wait until the pizza got here before we drank the whole bottle of champagne…”</p><p>There was happy, slightly sloshed laughter from the floor.  “Too late now…”</p><p>Mike sank deeper into the couch, as if suddenly boneless.  His hat was tilted back on his head at a rakish angle.  “Yeah, you’re right…”  He laughed, lifting the glass and pouring the rest of the now warm amber liquid down his throat.  “Too late now…”  </p><p>A contented silence settled over the room that was, in actuality, spinning slightly for its current occupants.  When the doorbell rang, they both jumped.  “Jeez, that’s loud,” Steve moaned from the floor, “I’ve gotta turn that down…”</p><p>“I think it’s the pizza…” Mike offered helpfully.</p><p>There was a brief silence.  “Oh, yeah…”  Steve tried to roll over onto his hands and knees; it took longer than normal, the glass in his hand somehow confusing him.  He managed to stand the glass on the table then, with both hands bracing himself, attempted to push himself to his feet.  Finally up, he grinned sloppily at his partner, chuckling, then turned unsteadily to head towards the door.</p><p>“The money,” Mike called after him and he lurched to a stop, swaying, then turned and leaned back towards the table, making a grab at the two five dollar bills.  </p><p>The doorbell rang again.  Steve straightened up quickly, instantly regretting it.  “I’m coming!” he bellowed as he turned back to stagger to the door.  He fumbled with the lock, realizing belatedly it wasn’t engaged, then threw the door open, almost knocking himself over in the process.  His frown of anger disappeared quickly at the sight of the tall young man standing in front of him, a red and white ballcap on his head and a large white pizza box held up on one hand.  </p><p>“Keller?”</p><p>“Ah, yeah…”  Steve stood there, blinking and staring but not even attempting to take the pizza box.</p><p>“Um…?”  The young man raised the box slightly.  Nothing happened.  With a frustrated sigh, as if this was something he was used to doing, the deliveryman took the box in both hands and pushed it gently against Steve’s chest.</p><p>Blinking rapidly several times, the cop smiled with a chuckle.  “Oh, yeah, right,” he slurred and grabbed the box with both hands.  He started to turn back into the house but was stopped by the very loud clearing of a throat.  He looked back over his shoulder.  The young man in the ballcap was looking at him through widened eyes and with a patient smile.  “Um, sir, my money…?”</p><p>Steve looked at him uncomprehendingly for a log second before his eyebrows shot up.  “Oh!…. Right!…”  He took his right hand off the box and held it out, dropping the two crumpled five dollar bills onto the kid’s outstretched hand.</p><p>The young man looked at the bills, surprised.  “Ah, sir, the pizza’s only -“</p><p>“Keep it,” Steve waved at the kid with his free hand.  He winked dramatically then lowered his voice.   “We’re celebrating…. We made a bad man resign today.”  He nodded conspiratorially then reached out and slowly closed the door in the young man’s face.</p><p>The kid stood on the small landing staring at the closed door for a long silent second.  “Okay…” he said quietly to himself as he turned and started down the stairs towards his car, shaking his head and glancing back at the clapboard apartment.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>The vest was long gone, as were his socks.   His shirt was untucked but somehow the hat was still on Mike’s head.  He was sprawled along the full length of the couch, staring at the ceiling and chuckling quietly to himself.</p><p>Steve was once again on his back on the floor within easy groping range of the coffee table.  The pizza box, open and empty, was sitting on one end of the table, the champagne bottle, the flutes and four empty cans of Bud on the other.</p><p>Steve frowned to himself; he could hear the the almost inaudible mirth coming from the couch.  “What are you laughing at?” he asked dully.</p><p>The chuckling got a little louder.  “I’m still hungry…”</p><p>“That’s because you’re drunk…”</p><p>“I don’t care why… I’m still hungry…”</p><p>Steve started to laugh too.  “So am I…. Hey!”  He tried to sit up quickly and instantly regretted it.  His head spun and he retched slightly, tasting bile at the back of his throat.  He coughed, trying to regroup.  He looked over the top of the coffee table; Mike had turned his head on the couch and was looking at him with a frown.  “I have potato chips… and popcorn.”  He started to push himself unsteadily to his feet.</p><p>Mike smiled as he watched the younger man struggle to get up.  “Ummmm, I love popcorn…. What kind?”</p><p>Steve had made it up and was wobbling towards the kitchen.  “What kind?  What do you mean what kind?  There only one kind… Jiffy Pop!”</p><p>His head turning back to stare at the ceiling, Mike’s smile got bigger.  “Ummmm, I love Jiffy Pop.”  Suddenly he frowned and tried to sit up.  “You’re not going to turn the stove on, are you?”</p><p># # # # #</p><p>Neither of them heard the knock on the door.  Or the doorbell.</p><p>With a frustrated sigh, Jeannie glanced around the short street, clocking the tan LTD parked against the far curb.  She glanced at her watch: 11:42.  Her father had a key, of course, but that did her no good at the moment.  Clearing her throat with an annoyed grunt, she knocked again, louder, as she pressed the doorbell and kept her finger on it.</p><p>There was still no response.  Growling to herself in frustration, she grabbed the doorknob to rattle it, shocked when it turned easily in her hand and the door sprung open.  She took a half step back in surprise then stepped quietly over the threshold.  The odour of beer, sweet liquor, pizza and popcorn slapped her in the face.</p><p>The room was almost dark; the curtains over the front window were closed but the overhead kitchen light was on.  And from where she stood, the living room and what she could see of the kitchen were a mess.  There was a champagne bottle, two flutes, innumerable opened cans of Budweiser, an large empty pizza box, two empty bags of potato chips and an gutted aluminum Jiffy Pop pan on the coffee table.</p><p>Her father was sprawled on his back on the couch, in his white t-shirt and pants, the fedora over his face.  He was snoring softly.  Steve was lying on his side on the floor close to the coffee table, a small throw pillow under his head.  His mouth was open and he was drooling on the carpet.</p><p>She stared at them, biting her lip, suddenly unsure what she should do.  Steve had called her late the previous afternoon while he and Mike were waiting to hear from the assistant district attorney, and told her that there was a chance her father wouldn’t be coming home if things went the way he hoped they would.  He said he would handle everything; she had no idea what that meant at the time.</p><p>Now she knew.  It had been a rough three months for both of them, she realized, but even moreso for her father.  He had needed a way of releasing everything that had been building up inside, something that she would be unable to help him do.  He needed his partner, his buddy boy, the surrogate son who understood him more deeply than anyone else ever could.</p><p>And it looked like Steve had succeeded.  </p><p>She watched for awhile, smiling warmly, then tiptoed into the kitchen, looking for a piece of paper and a pen.  When she was done, she filled the coffee maker and turned it on, putting the note under one of the clean mugs she set out on the counter.  Hopefully the smell of fresh coffee would gradually awaken them.</p><p>As she silently returned to the front door, she took one last look at her sleeping men, hoping that Steve had a big bottle of aspirin somewhere in the house.  From the looks of it, they were really going to need it.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>“It’s not a very big crowd, is it?” Jeannie asked as she looked around the almost empty stadium.  “Well, it didn’t help that they got creamed last night, I guess.”  With a gentle chuckle, pulling the neck of her windbreaker closer in the biting wind coming in off the Bay, she picked up one of the hotdogs from the small cardboard box on her knee and took a big bite, a large dollop of mustard and relish dropping back into the box.</p><p>Even sitting between the two men offered no protection from the elements but she was determined not to let it get in the way of enjoying the evening and the ballgame.  The hot dog was rapidly cooling in the chilly air and she tried to eat as fast as she could.  </p><p>Her eyes on the pitcher’s mound, she felt movement on her right and turned her head.  Her father, his black Giants jacket zippered to the neck, was staring down at her from under the black cap with the orange SF logo through bloodshot blue eyes in a grey face.  He didn’t look happy; he didn’t look well.  She tried not to smile as she chewed, staring into his eyes expectantly.</p><p>His gaze slid from her face to the partially eaten hotdog in her hand and it seemed as if he stifled a burp.  She raised her hand holding the hotdog slightly.  “You want a bite?”</p><p>His eyes widened in alarm then he shook his head, closing his eyes suddenly as he instantly regretted the action.  She could hear a very soft moan as he turned back to face the field.</p><p>Swallowing, she grinned, turning to the man on her other side who was hiding behind a pair of heavy dark glasses, even though they were sitting in the shade.  She leaned into him, getting his attention.  When he turned slowly in her direction, she proffered the hotdog again.  “Want a bite?”</p><p>He shook his head slowly and she knew he had closed his eyes.  She shrugged.  “Too bad - it’s really good.”  She felt him shiver.  “You should’ve worn a warmer coat.  You should know how cold the nights get here in August.”  He looked back at the field.</p><p>Smiling to herself, she went back to her hotdog, putting the last bite into her mouth.  She leaned gently into her father, feeling his warmth.  She knew she was probably rubbing it in a little too much, her glee at their discomfort, but she couldn’t help herself.  She was relieved to see her father, suffering though he was with a rare but monumental hangover, returning once more to the man she adored.</p><p>She looked to her left and smiled affectionately.  It was because of that young man, she knew, the young man who loved Mike as much as she did, and who her father had begun to need and rely on more and more as the years passed.  It was hard to imagine one without the other now, even for her.</p><p>She felt a lump forming in the back of her throat and she coughed quietly, looking away.  She knew they were here for her tonight, that they wouldn’t let her down no matter what, and she loved them for it.</p><p>But she couldn’t resist one more little jab.  As she picked up the second hotdog, she elbowed her father again.  “You sure you don’t want a bite?”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0077"><h2>77. Chapter 77</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The young cops were happy, if a little suspicious, that Steve had called them for the second time in just a few months to get together for a drink, albeit at a different though familiar bar.  They all knew about the Pettis arrest and they were brimming with questions that Steve fielded honestly.  In reality, he had nothing to hide, and his colleagues were actually pleased that the dirty cop had been taken off the street.</p><p>Steve and his buddies were in a booth in one corner of the crowded watering hole, all of them eyeing the recruits who were standing around the bar, swapping training stories.  The comments from the booth, not all of them kind, were coming at a head-spinning pace and there was a lot of laughter.  Some of the recruits began shooting glances, some annoyed, some borderline angry, at the ‘old-timers’.</p><p>His eyes scanning the crowd, Steve couldn’t spot Burke and he hoped the training sergeant hadn’t changed his M.O. and was no longer joining his charges for an end-of-the-week drink like he used to.  Picking up his beer, still looking at the recruits as he leaned back in the booth, he asked with impressive nonchalance, “So does anybody know if any of our training sergeants are still around?  I haven’t been paying attention to that kinda stuff.”</p><p>Bob Cole leaned forward.  “Washington’s still around, I’ve seen him down in the garage a few times.”</p><p>Blake Cummings nodded.  “Yeah, I’ve seen him too.  He was one of the good guys, remember?”</p><p>Carl Lemire nodded, taking a sip of his Coors.  “Yeah, I remember him.  And Burton.”</p><p>“What about Burke?” Steve asked, leaning forward and picking up one of the chicken wings from a plate in the centre of the table.  “Is he still around?”</p><p>Cole frowned.  “I think so.”</p><p>Lemire nodded.  “Oh, yeah, I saw him drive by the other day.  The bastard…” He was looking down at the table.</p><p>Biting into the wing, Steve’s ears perked up.  “Why do you say that?”  </p><p>Lemire looked up, frowning slightly.  “I never rode with him but a couple of the guys that did told me he’s, ah, well, let’s just say he has some very strong opinions…”</p><p>Steve glanced at the others.  They were all staring at Lemire.  “What kind of strong opinions?”  He knew the question wasn’t out of order; they were all interested in cop gossip and this certainly qualified.</p><p>Lemire, who was black, looked around the table and ducked his head, playing with his beer bottle.  “Let’s just say he’s not too fond of the brothers…”</p><p>“He’s racist?” Cole asked.</p><p>Lemire stared at him for a beat then nodded with a slight shrug.</p><p>Cummings glanced at the others.  “I rode with him a couple of times just after we graduated and I never heard him say anything.”</p><p>Lemire smiled slightly.  “Some people can hide it real well…”  He took a sip of his beer.</p><p>“Who else rode with him, do you remember?” Steve asked, trying to sound casual.</p><p>Lemire was just about to answer when Cole’s eyes flashed towards the bar.  “Ixnay on the alktay…” he said quickly, keeping his voice low and covering his mouth with his beer bottle.</p><p>Suddenly a large shadow loomed over their table and they all looked up to see Sergeant Darren Burke staring down at them, a beer in his hand.  His laugh was deep and loud.  “What the hell are you guys doing here?”</p><p>Steve opened his mouth to reply when Lemire piped up, “Nostalgic reunion.”</p><p>The others chuckled and nodded.  Burke, looking at each of them individually, reached behind himself and grabbed an empty chair, pulling it closer to the end of the table and sitting.  “Hell, I thought you guys’d never want to come back here again.”</p><p>“Just checking out the newbies who’ll be trying to take over our jobs in a few years,” Cummings chuckled, gesturing at the recruits with his bottle.</p><p>Burke glanced over shoulder.  “Ah, a couple of them are pretty good, but the rest…”  He shrugged, shaking his head.</p><p>“So, were we your best class?” Lemire asked, smiling.</p><p>Steve hadn’t taken his eyes off Burke, studying him surreptitiously, looking for the barest sign that what he suspected was true.  The sergeant glanced at the black Robbery inspector before he smiled and laughed and in that impossibly brief moment a look of contempt flashed so quickly over Burke’s features that Steve wasn’t sure he had actually seen it.  </p><p>“Well, I wouldn’t say you guys were the best, but you were right up there, that’s for sure.  I mean, come on, two of you are inspectors already and one of the other guys is a sergeant in Vice.  You’re doing well for yourselves, that’s for sure.</p><p>Knowing he was pushing his luck a little more than he should, Steve asked with a chuckle, “So, ah, who amongst that group,” he nodded towards the youngsters at the bar, “do you think’ll go the furthest?”</p><p>Burke looked at him with a curious frown then chuckled, turning in his seat to look back towards the bar.  He pointed out four of the group of about ten recruits, praising their aptitude and predicting that they’d go far in the department.  The others nodded at his assessment.  Steve made brief eye contact with Lemire; not one of the recruits Burke had singled out was black, though there were three in the group.</p><p>Burke sat with them for several minutes more then excused himself to join his ‘boys’.  When he was well and truly out of earshot, Lemire leaned towards Steve.  “Told ya…”</p><p>The homicide inspector nodded.  “It’s subtle but it’s definitely there,” he agreed then turned to the others.  “Listen guys, ah, it’s kind of important that everything we talk about tonight stays between us, okay?”</p><p>The others looked at him with varying degrees of concern.  “What’s going on?” Cummings asked.  “Are you investigating Burke?”</p><p>When Steve hesitated for a split second, Cole chimed in, “Since when did you start working for IA?”</p><p>“I’m not,” Steve assured quickly, keeping his voice down as he glanced up at the bar, relieved to see Burke far away and deeply engaged in conversation.  “It’s more a favour to a friend, okay?”</p><p>“Is this friend your partner?” Cummings asked, confused as to why Steve would be doing something like this in the first place.</p><p>The Homicide inspector shook his head.  “No, but we’re working on this together.”  He glanced around the table, meeting every pair of eyes.  “Do I have your word?”</p><p>After a brief second, Cummings nodded.  “Yeah, of course.”  Cole and Lemire nodded as well.</p><p>“Good.”  Steve sat back.</p><p>“Can you tell us what this is all about?” Lemire asked and Steve shook his head. </p><p>“Sorry…”  They all nodded again.  “Listen, uh, as I was asking before we were interrupted, do any of you guys remember who else from our group rode with him?”</p><p>Lemire shook his head, the other two frowned.  Suddenly Cole said, “Yeah, yeah, remember that red-headed kid, the one who looked like he was about twelve?”</p><p>Cummings snapped his fingers.  “Yeah, ah…. Demmings, wasn’t it, or something like that…?”</p><p>“Denning,” Cole said suddenly.  “Milo Denning.”</p><p>Steve nodded.  “Yeah, I remember him.  Didn’t he wash out before his probation was up?”</p><p>Cole nodded.  “Yeah, I think so.  I think he was riding with Burke at the time too, if I remember correctly.”</p><p>“That’d be easy to find out from Records, wouldn’t it?” Lemire suggested.</p><p>The others nodded.  “Yeah, but try to find out anything from Records without everybody else finding out about it too… that’s the trick, right?” Cummings offered.</p><p>Steve nodded, pursing his lips.  He suddenly felt he and Mike had a team behind them; he wasn’t sure how his partner would feel about it but he thought it was great.</p><p>“Listen, uh,” Cole said suddenly, “didn’t he used to hang with Marty Fletcher when we were at the academy?”</p><p>Lemire perked up.  “Yeah… yeah, I think you’re right.”</p><p>“Anyone here still tight with Marty?” Steve asked hopefully.</p><p>The other three shook their heads and he deflated slightly.  </p><p>“But I know somebody who is,” Cummings said with a smile.  “My wife’s sister is going out with him.”</p><p>“Seriously?” Lemire chuckled.  </p><p>“Yeah, I think he’s gonna propose.”</p><p>They all laughed.  </p><p>“So, ah, do you think he’d talk to me?” Steve asked.</p><p>“About Denning and Burke?”</p><p>The inspector nodded.  </p><p>Cummings shrugged.  “I can ask him.  But if he asks me what this is all about, what do I tell him?”</p><p>Steve thought about it for a few seconds.  “That’s it’s about righting a wrong.”</p><p>They all knew he wasn’t going to go into specifics, and for now they were all right with that.  It was obviously something substantial, and they would be brought into the light at the proper time.</p><p>“Look, Steve,” Cole said, “we know you can’t tell us anything, but this is on the up-and-up, right?  I mean, why are you doing this instead of somebody from IA?”</p><p>“Well, let’s just say Mike and I are keeping it ‘in house’ right now until we can confirm we actually do have a problem, and then we’re gonna take it to IA.  Don’t worry, we’re not doing anything anybody has to be uncomfortable about.”</p><p>The other three looked at each other and nodded.  “Sounds good to me,” Cole said with a nod and the rest agreed.  He held up his beer and the others clinked their bottles against it.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>“Oh, Jeannie, that smells so good… as usual.  Thank you for inviting me.”  Steve was sitting on a kitchen chair, cradling a glass of red wine.</p><p>“You’re welcome, but you had to know you’d be invited.  ‘The Last Supper’ Mike calls it,” she chuckled as she turned the burner off under the pot steaming the broccoli.</p><p>“He’s going to miss you, you know.”</p><p>“I’m gonna miss him.  Both of you.”  She glanced over her shoulder with a smile.  “But I’ll be back for Thanksgiving.”</p><p>“You better be!” Mike’s bellowed as he stepped into the kitchen, grinning.  “Hey, buddy boy, I didn’t hear you come in.”</p><p>“I just got here.”  He picked up the empty wine glass on the table and poured some of the Pinot Noir into it, handing it to the older man.  “Here.”</p><p>Mike took the glass, looking at it through wary eyes.  “I’m sticking with just one tonight…” he said with mock gravity and the younger man laughed.  </p><p>Mike paused at the stove to kiss his daughter on the cheek before he sat at the table, looking at her with a frown.  “Is there something we can do to help, sweetheart?  I hate just sitting here doing nothing.”</p><p>Jeannie glanced at him.  “That’s the way I like it.  Besides, I won’t be doing this again for a couple of months so take advantage of it.”</p><p>“Yes, ma’am,” her father laughed as he took a sip of the wine then put the glass down.  “So,” he looked at his partner, “was last night a success?”</p><p>Steve nodded.  “Yes, it was.”  He spent the next few minutes bringing the other man up to speed on the events of the night before.  “There’s definitely something going on there… something that made me uncomfortable.  Anyway, ah, Blake gave Marty Fletcher a call this morning and I talked to him this afternoon and you and I have a meeting with him tomorrow at 10.  He suggested a little out of the way diner over in Dogpatch.  How does that sound?”</p><p>Mike nodded.  “Sounds like you had a very successful evening…”</p><p>“I did.”  He glanced at Jeannie.  “And what did you two do last night?”</p><p>Mike opened his mouth to answer but Jeannie beat him to it.  “Mike took me to L’Etoile.”  She raised her brows and grinned proudly at her father.</p><p>Steve’s wide, impressed eyes slid in Mike’s direction.  He was smiling proudly, like a peacock on full display.  “That’s why she’s rewarding me with a pot roast tonight,” he chuckled with a wink.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0078"><h2>78. Chapter 78</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The Dogpatch diner was a small greasy spoon sandwiched between warehouses near the waterfront.  It didn’t look like much but the smell of fried food was more welcoming than overwhelming, which was a pleasant surprise as the two detectives entered the almost empty establishment.</p><p>A handsome young dark-haired man in a tweed jacket and wide brown tie was sitting in a booth against the far wall.  He looked up and smiled as the partners approached.  “Steve, good to see you.”  He reached out and they shook hands as Mike slid into the booth first.</p><p>“You too, Marty, thanks for doing this on such short notice.”  Steve sat, nodding at the man beside him.  “Marty, this is Lieutenant Stone.  Marty Fletcher.”</p><p>Grinning, Mike reached across the table to shake hands.  “Mike.  Good to meet you, Marty.”</p><p>“You too, sir.  It’s a pleasure.  I’ve heard a lot about you, sir.”  </p><p>Mike looked at his partner, frowning.  Steve shook his head quickly.  “Not from me.  Marty and I haven’t seen each other since we graduated.”  </p><p>Mike turned his frown on Fletcher, who chuckled.  “Everybody in the department knows who you are, Lieutenant.”</p><p>Slumping, the older man turned self-conscious eyes on Steve.  “Yikes…” he said softly.</p><p>The homicide inspector laughed softly, turning his attention to the man across the table.  “Just ignore him,” he said with a knowing nod in Mike’s direction; Fletcher could hear the affection in his voice.</p><p>The waitress approached the table and the two newcomers ordered coffees; Fletcher already had one.  He leaned over the table when she left.  “So, ah, you want to know about Milo Denning?”</p><p>Steve nodded.  “Yeah, you used to hang with him when we were at the academy, right?”</p><p>Fletcher nodded.  “Yeah, me and Pete Yukovich.”</p><p>“Oh, jeez, Pete, I forgot about him.”  Steve dropped his head into his hand for a brief second then looked at his partner.  “Pete was a great guy, would’ve made a great cop too, but he was killed in a motorcycle accident about a week before we graduated.”</p><p>Fletcher was nodding.  Mike’s sympathetic eyes shifted from one young man to the other.</p><p>“Yeah, Pete really was a good guy.  Milo took it hard,” Fletcher said quietly.  “You know, your call yesterday triggered some things that I’d forgotten.”“Oh?  Like what?” Mike asked.</p><p>The waitress returned with their coffees and they waited till she left before they continued.  Fletcher looked from one to the other, settling on Mike.  “Well, when Steve mentioned Milo and Sergeant Burke in the same breath…”  He exhaled loudly, looking down and shaking his head.  It was obvious he was about to stray into, for him, heretofore unchartered territory, and there was a definite reluctance.</p><p>“Listen, son,” Mike said softly, “anything you say stays between us, you have my word.”</p><p>Fletcher looked at the lieutenant gratefully and nodded.  “I, ah, I didn’t think much about it at the time but looking back… and seeing how Milo washed out during his probation…”</p><p>“What are you getting at?” Steve asked after a couple of beats of silence.</p><p>Fletcher was looking down at his coffee cup, both hands wrapped around it, and he raised his head slowly to meet his classmate’s eyes.  “I’m pretty sure you didn’t know… I don’t think anybody did, except Pete and me… but Milo was gay.”</p><p>Very slowly Steve sat back, briefly looking at his partner, who met his eyes silently, nodding once.  He snorted mirthlessly.  “That explains a lot,” he said quietly before taking a sip of his coffee.</p><p>Fletcher frowned.  “What do you mean?”</p><p>Steve wasn’t sure how much he should reveal and he hesitated.  Mike shot him a sideways glance then leaned forward over the table slightly.  “We’re looking into a case that has… homophobic undertones… and we have to tread lightly…”</p><p>Fletcher nodded slowly.  “I understand.”  He looked at Steve and raised his eyebrows, inviting the questions he knew would be coming.</p><p>The homicide inspector cleared his throat softly.  “Was Pete gay?”  He felt his partner’s eyes on him and knew he had asked precisely the right question.</p><p>The Vice sergeant stared back for a silent beat then nodded almost imperceptibly.  Then he smiled wistfully.  “Nobody suspected because there were three of us hanging around together…. I guess I was their beard…”  His smiled sadly and eyes brightened; he looked down at his cup again.</p><p>“I had no idea,” Steve offered quietly, “I don’t think anybody did.”</p><p>Fletcher nodded again.  “They were great guys, both of them.  They would’ve made great cops.”</p><p>Mike shifted slightly, deliberately taking a sip of his coffee before asking, “Marty, why do you think Denning washed out?” </p><p>Fletcher looked up and shrugged, shaking his head.  “I don’t know.  I never had a chance to talk to him after he did… and then he left town.”</p><p>“Where did he go, do you know?” Steve asked.</p><p>His classmate shook his head.  “No, we completely lost touch.  Sorry…”</p><p>Both Mike and Steve shook their heads.  “It’s not your fault,” the older man said quickly.  “If he’s still in California we can track him down through the DMV.”</p><p>“I think he said he had family upstate, if that helps.”</p><p>Mike nodded with a smile.  “Thanks.”</p><p>Steve, who had been staring at the tabletop, suddenly looked up.  “Marty, do you think Sergeant Burke had anything to do with Milo washing out?”</p><p>Both Fletcher and his partner started slightly; this was a question neither of them was expecting to hear so bluntly.  The younger man stared at him without expression for several long beats before he blinked and looked down momentarily, as if choosing his next words.</p><p>“To be perfectly honest, I never gave it any thought at all until after your phone call yesterday, Steve.  I started thinking back…  Burke was the guy everybody wanted to ride with, remember?  The Duke Wayne of training officers.  I remember being jealous of Milo when he got the seat, you know…?  And then a month later he was gone…”  He shook his head sadly, looking away.</p><p>“And Burke…?” Mike prompted softly and the sergeant’s dark brown eyes slid towards him.  </p><p>“I didn’t think anything about it at the time… but I remember once, when a bunch of us were at roll call one morning and the duty sergeant was bringing us up to speed on the stuff that had happened overnight and there had been an assault over in The Castro.  Burke and a couple of his buddies were nearby and I heard one of them say something like ‘Who cares about the fags’…  I’m not sure if it was Burke but he was right there.”  He snorted.  “It might’ve been him but I couldn’t swear to it.  But in hindsight now…?”  He shrugged.</p><p>“I remember that morning,” Steve offered quietly, “but I didn’t hear anything.  I was probably at the other side of the room.”  He looked at his partner.  “I was riding with Art Crawley then.”</p><p>Mike smiled and nodded then looked at Fletcher again.  “Do you remember any of the other training officers, or anyone else, making comments like that back then?”</p><p>The sergeant shook his head slowly.  “Not that I can remember, Lieu-…. Mike.  I really wasn’t paying much attention, I have to admit, ‘cause it didn’t affect me, if you know what I mean…  But Steve’s call really rang some bells for me.”  He looked at his classmate and nodded.</p><p>There was a thoughtful silence.  Fletcher looked back and forth between the partners then asked softly, “Has any of this helped in whatever it is you’re trying to do?”</p><p>Their eyes meeting briefly, both homicide detectives nodded.  </p><p>“Ah, one more thing,” Mike asked, leaning forward again.  “You mentioned Burke was with his buddies when that… that slur was uttered…”</p><p>Fletcher nodded.  “Yeah…?”</p><p>“Do you remember who those ‘buddies’ were?”  He was staring at the young sergeant but he felt his partner’s eyes flash towards him.</p><p>Fletcher frowned slightly.  “Ah, yeah, there were three of them.  Kreiner, Daly and, ah…”  He snapped his fingers a couple of times, his gaze unfocusing as he tried to remember.  He looked up.  “Steve, you remember… that big bald guy, bullet head…”</p><p>Steve looked inward, thinking, then his head jerked up.  “Boucher.”  He pronounced it the American way - Bow-cher.</p><p>“Yeah, that’s him.”</p><p>“Are they still on the force, do you know?” Mike asked.</p><p>Both younger men shook their heads and shrugged. </p><p>“Any one of them closer to Burke than the others?” Mike asked, his eyes snapping back and forth between them.</p><p>Steve shook his head again with another shrug but Fletcher paused.  “Yeah, ah, I saw him a couple of times in a bar with Kreiner but I don’t know if that makes them close…”</p><p>Mike smiled.  “Thanks, Marty.  You’ve been a big help.”  He lifted his cup to take a sip then stopped abruptly.  “This is cold,” he said with a dry chuckle.  “I’ll get us some fresh ones.”  He signalled for the waitress as he looked at his younger colleagues and smiled.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>Mike hung up the phone and looked up overtop of his glasses; Steve was just coming through the door, a bunch of paperwork in his hands.  “What have you got there?” </p><p>“Photos and bios on our three ‘buddies,’” the younger man explained, shutting the door before laying the photos on the desk facing his partner.  “Kreiner…. Daly…. Boucher…”</p><p>The lieutenant studied the three pictures.   Boucher and Daly both were staring at the camera with slight smiles and for all intents and purposes looked benign.  Kreiner, on the other hand, looked like he could bend steel and his glare was menacing, even in a photograph.  “What do their files say?” he asked, glancing up.</p><p>Steve slumped into the guest chair and started to paw through the papers.  “Uh, Boucher’s been a training officer for ten years, no complaints, a couple of commendations, married with two kids.  Daly’s been a trainer for eight years, again no complaints, no commendations and he’s divorced.  No kids.  The photogenic Kreiner,” he chuckled and Mike shot him wry smile, “has been a trainer for eleven years.  Three commendations, two complaints…”  He looked up, raising his eyebrows.  “One for excessive force that was dismissed for lack of evidence, one for wrongful detainment, also dismissed.  He’s married with three kids.”</p><p>“See if you can find out what that excessive force complaint was all about, will ya?  Discreetly, of course.”</p><p>“You bet.”</p><p>Mike sat back, taking off his glasses and dropping them on the desk.  “So what do you think?  Kreiner seems to fit the bill, doesn’t he?”</p><p>“For Burke’s buddy?  Yeah, I’d say, but we know nothing about this other guy, do we?”</p><p>“No, we don’t.”  Mike got up and walked to the door.  He opened it and took a step out.  “Bill!” he called across the bullpen.</p><p>Tanner’s head came up and Mike beckoned him over then returned to his chair.  When the assistant inspector appeared in the doorway, he was waved in.  He closed the door before he took a step closer to the desk.  “What’s up?”</p><p>“Steve and I need to talk to Marc and his friend,” Mike stated flatly.</p><p>Tanner’s eyes snapped back and forth between the partners.  “What for?”  He knew this was going to be necessary but he was surprised it would be so soon.</p><p>“Well, we think we know who was with Burke that night but we need confirmation,” Steve answered with a sympathetic smile.</p><p>Tanner put his hands on his hips and dropped his head.  After a long second, he looked at his boss.  “I haven’t even told him I talked to you yet.”  Nobody said anything.  He inhaled deeply.  “Okay, ah, give me a day or so, will you?  I’ve got to find the right time… and the right way.  And it’s not something I want to do over the phone.”</p><p>Both the others were nodding.  “We understand,” Mike said softly, “take your time.  We don’t want to move too quickly either and tip our hand before we’re ready.”</p><p>Tanner nodded.  “Okay… thanks.”  He turned to go then stopped, looking back.  “Listen, ah, thanks for doing this.  It means a lot.”</p><p>“Hey,” Steve said with a smile, “don’t worry about it, man.  If we can take a bad cop off the street…”  He raised his eyebrows and tilted his head.  </p><p>Tanner looked at the man behind the desk.  Mike grinned and pointed at this partner.  “What he said.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0079"><h2>79. Chapter 79</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Captain Cassidy looked up when he heard a soft clearing of a throat.  “Mike, what are you doing down here?” he chuckled when he spotted the lieutenant standing in his open doorway.  “You getting homesick, want to transfer back here?”</p><p>“Yeah, it’s just gotten too boring for me up in Homicide,” Mike laughed as he stepped into the small room, taking off his fedora.  “You got a minute?” he asked, his smile disappearing as he closed the door.</p><p>Frowning, Cassidy gestured at the guest chair.  “Sure.  What can I do for you?”</p><p>Mike tossed his hat on the desk as he sat. “Well, I need a favor, George, and a pretty big one.”  He smiled.  “And it’s right up your alley.”</p><p>“Oh?”</p><p>“Yeah.”  Mike chuckled to himself.  “You know, I asked my partner to pursue this line of inquiry but he said I have more clout with you than he does.  I hope so.”</p><p>Cassidy smiled under his frown.  “He’s right, you do.”</p><p>“Good.”  The lieutenant snorted.  “Listen, George, this one has got to be off the record… and I mean really off the record right now.  When the time is right we’ll being it into the open, but for right now, it’s got to remain between you and me and Steve.  And I need your word on that…”  He smiled guiltily, his stare unwavering.</p><p>Cassidy stared back without moving for a long second then he nodded slowly.  “Okay…. This must be big.”</p><p>Mike nodded once.  “It has the potential to be.”</p><p>“Okay… so, ah, what do you need?”</p><p>“I need all you’ve got on Sergeant Darren Burke.”</p><p>Cassidy’s brow furrowed.  “The training sergeant?”</p><p>“Umh-humh.”</p><p>The captain leaned forward.  “What’s he done?”</p><p>“You know I can’t tell you that.”  Mike paused, tilting his head.  “Why do you ask?”</p><p>Cassidy lowered his head then he slowly laid both hands palms down on the desk.  “Because I can’t begin to count the number of times I’ve investigated that guy over the years.  He hates my guts.”</p><p>Mike frowned.  “But according to the records Steve got, he’s only had two complaints filed against him.  One for excessive force and one for wrongful detainment.”</p><p>“That’s only because we’ve never been able to get anything to stick.  Complaints get filed, and then the complainant gets cold feet and retracts everything they said, so the complaints disappear.  Those two stuck because the people that filed wouldn’t back down.”</p><p>“What do you mean ‘back down’?”</p><p>Cassidy shrugged.  “Well, it’s nothing we could prove but there’s been talk that Burke… used his influence, shall we say, and the people who did the complaining would swear on a stack that they’d made a mistake and they took it all back.”  He shook his head in frustration.  “There’s not much we can do when that happens.  IA is not as powerful as some people would have you believe.”</p><p>“Humh,” Mike snorted to himself.  “Well, if you can give me some details on the two complaints that stuck, that would be great, thanks.  And anything else you can give me as well.”</p><p>With a tight smile, Cassidy got to his feet.  “You got it.  Give me a sec to get his file.”  He left the office, crossing the large bullpen to the wall of filing cabinets on the far side of the room.  He found the one he was looking for and opened a lower drawer.  Within seconds he was heading back to his office with a good-sized file folder in his hand.  As he sat, he looked at the lieutenant.  “So, ah, anything you can tell me about what you’re looking into?”</p><p>Mike shook his head.  “For your sake, not right now.  But like I said, when we’re ready to go public with this, you’ll be one of the first to know ‘cause we’re going to need you.”</p><p>“Okay.”  The captain flipped through the file, finding the pages he needed.  Mike had taken his notebook and pen out and put on his reading glasses.  “So, the excessive force complaint was made four years ago, by a gentleman named Simon Hawthorne.  He was being arrested for soliciting and he complained that Burke punched him a number of times, when it wasn’t necessary, during the arrest.”</p><p>Mike made notes, nodding.  “And the wrongful detainment?”</p><p>Cassidy flipped a couple of pages.  “Robert Costello complained that Burke kept him locked in the backseat of his car for over four hours, without access to water or a bathroom, during an investigation into a fight in a bar on 18th Street.”</p><p>“18th in The Castro?”</p><p>“I believe so, yes.”  Cassidy looked up, frowning.  “Why?”</p><p>Mike finished making a note, flipping his notebook shut and smiling as he took his glasses off.  “By any chance would Misters Hawthorne and Costello be gay?”</p><p>Cassidy slowly closed the file.  “Do I take it that Sergeant Burke has a problem with members of the homosexual community?”</p><p>“That’s what we’re looking into,” Mike said with raised eyebrows as he slipped the notebook and pen back into his jacket pocket.  “Thanks, George, that’s exactly what I needed.”  He started to get to his feet.  “When you have the chance, can I get a copy of that file… the whole thing?”</p><p>“Sure.  Ah, listen, Mike,” Cassidy stopped him as he was about to leave the room.  The captain looked down and inhaled deeply.  “I know it’s got nothing to do with me… but I don’t like Burke.  I never have.  As far as I’m concerned, he’s a bully and he’s an horrendous role model for those newbies he’s training.  If you think you and Steve can take him down, more power to you.”</p><p>Mike smiled as he picked up his hat.  “Thanks, George.”  With a grateful smile, he left the office.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>Marc Taylor looked horrible.  His right eye was swollen, there was a bandage over his nose, the right side of his mouth was twice the size and his posture was hunched in pain.  It was uncomfortable just looking at him.  </p><p>Bill Tanner returned from the kitchen with a glass of water and put it on the coffee table in front of their host, who nodded his thanks.</p><p>“Sorry about the mess,” Taylor apologized with a slight shrug, “but I’ve been sleeping here on the couch so Barry can have the bed.  Every time he rolls over, it hurts…”  He tried a slight, pain-filled laugh and the others joined him.</p><p>“Barry’s not here?” Steve asked, glancing at his partner.  They thought they were going to be talking to both men.</p><p>Taylor took a sip of the water.  “He should be back in a few minutes.  He went out to get a prescription filled.”</p><p>“Have you seen a doctor?” Mike asked, genuinely concerned.</p><p>Taylor nodded carefully.  “At the free clinic on Clayton.”  He shook his head, glancing at Tanner.  “I won’t go to a hospital.  I can’t…”</p><p>All three detectives nodded understandingly.  Mike looked at his partner and raised his eyebrows and Steve took his cue.  He opened the file folder that was sitting in his lap and took out three photos.  </p><p>“We won’t be long, Mr. Taylor, and I know Bill’s already told you why we’re here.  We know who the man was who beat you up, and we’re…investigating him.  But what we would like, from you and hopefully from Mr. King, is the identification of the man who was with your assailant.”</p><p>“My assailant…?” Taylor almost spat out.  “You mean the bastard that almost beat me to death… for nothing…!”</p><p>Tanner put a hand on his friend’s arm, looking at his colleagues guiltily.  Both Mike and Steve froze until the brief outburst ended.  With a warm, concerned smile Mike leaned forward.  “You’re right, Mr. Taylor, he is a bastard.  And Steve and I are going to make sure he pays for what he did to you.  You have our word.”</p><p>Taylor stared angrily into the sympathetic blue eyes for a long moment then he closed his eyes and dropped his head, nodding slightly.  “I’m sorry…”</p><p>“You don’t have to apologize,” Steve said simply.  “What happened to you is unjustifiable… and we’re not going to stop until the man responsible is behind bars.”</p><p>Taylor’s head came up slowly.  “But he’s a cop…?”</p><p>Steve smiled wryly.  “That doesn’t mean he’s above the law, Mr. Taylor.”  He leaned forward and held out one of the photos in his hand.  “If you could let us know if you recognize one of these men…?” he requested as Taylor took the photo and looked at it closely.</p><p>“I, ah, I really didn’t see the other guy…. Barry would know…”  He handed the photo back, shaking his head.  He did the same with other two.</p><p>They heard the apartment door open and close, and a young, baby-faced white man with red hair stepped into the living room, holding a small white paper bag.  “I got it -!” he called, stopping abruptly when he spotted the three strangers in his living room.</p><p>Chuckling softly, Taylor made the introductions and explained the reason for their presence.  Barry King was more than eager to offer any help that he could but, as with Taylor, he didn’t recognize any of the photos Steve showed them.</p><p>“Sorry,” King said, obviously disappointed that he couldn’t be of any help with the photos.  “But I might be able to do one of those… those drawings like I see them do on TV.  Do you guys do that kind of stuff?”</p><p>“You mean a sketch artist?” Steve asked.</p><p>King nodded.  “Yeah, that’s it, a sketch artist.”</p><p>The partners looked at each other and nodded.  Mike turned to Tanner.  “Bill, can you arrange…?”</p><p>Tanner nodded enthusiastically.  “Yes, I sure can.”  He looked at King.  “We’ll have to do it here.  We don’t want you anywhere near any police stations just in case, you know…  When’s good for you?”</p><p>King shrugged.  “I’m free tomorrow night after work, if that’s okay with you?”</p><p>Mike grinned at everyone.  “Perfect.  Bill will arrange everything with our artist.”  He looked at King.  “Thank you very much.  It’ll be a big help.”</p><p>Taylor turned to King and a warm look passed between them.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>The elevators doors closed on the third floor and they were alone.  </p><p>Mike was leaning against the back wall, his hands in his pockets.  “Listen, ah, get your hands on photos of all the training officers on active duty and any that have retired or transferred in the last couple of years.  This… mystery point man for Burke may be one of them…”</p><p>The elevator doors opened and they stepped out into an almost empty corridor, heading towards Homicide.</p><p>“But, again, be discreet,” the older man continued, keeping his voice low.  “I don’t know about you, but I have a feeling we have to tread incredibly lightly with this because…”  He surreptitiously glanced up and down the corridor and almost subconsciously leaned closer to his partner.  “… I think Burke is a very big loose cannon that could be capable of just about anything.”</p><p>Steve pulled the Homicide office door open and held it for the older man to precede him.  As his partner stepped past him, he whispered, “I couldn’t agree more.”</p><p>The phone on Steve’s desk was ringing when they stepped into the bullpen.  Mike continued on to his office as Steve snatched up the receiver.  “Homicide, Keller.”</p><p>“Steve, it’s Carl Lemire.”</p><p>“Hey, Carl, how you doing?”  Steve frowned as he circled his desk to the chair and sat, leaning back slightly.</p><p>“Good, good.  Ah, listen, man, I just wanted to give you a heads up…”</p><p>“Yeah, okay…  About what?”</p><p>There was a slight pause on the other end of the line.  “Ah, you know what we were all talking about the other night…?”  There was a nervous caution in his classmate’s voice that set off alarms.  </p><p>“Yeah…”</p><p>Lemire cleared his throat.  “Yeah, ah, my partner and I were doing some investigation and clean-up at a bad accident over in North Beach this afternoon and, ah…. Well, I was standing on the sidewalk talking to a witness when this cruiser glides by us, real slow… and I glance up… and Burke is in the driver’s seat and he’s looking at me…”</p><p>Steve sat forward.  “Burke?”</p><p>“Yeah…. North Beach is not his territory, Steve, I know that for a fact.  He’s Richmond District, not Northern.  He had no reason to be there.”</p><p>“And he was looking at you?”</p><p>“He wasn’t just looking at me, Steve… he was glaring at me…”  There was a long, tense pause.  “He knows, Steve…  I swear to god he knows…”</p>
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<a name="section0080"><h2>80. Chapter 80</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“That worries me… that worries me a lot.”  Mike leaned forward, bringing both hands to his face and rubbing his palms into his eyes with a heavy sigh then leaning on his elbows with his fingers over his mouth.  His stare was far away.</p><p>Steve was sitting in the guest chair, his forearms on his thighs, looking at the floor.  “I’m beginning to think it was a mistake getting those guys involved…. If Burke thinks they’re going after him -“</p><p>“Well, there’s nothing we can do about that now,” Mike interrupted gently, lacing his fingers and dropping his forearms onto the desk.  “But it means we can’t take our time on this anymore.  We’re going to have to speed everything up… and I don’t like that one bit.  That puts the ball in his court, and I don’t like being on the back foot.”</p><p>Steve lifted his head.  “Neither do I.”  He straightened up.  “So how do you want to handle this now?”</p><p>The older man raised his eyebrows.  “Good question.  Well, I want to take the spotlight off those friends of yours but I’ll be damned if I know how to do that without making both of us the target… and I’m not very comfortable with that either.”  He exhaled loudly.  “I think we have to be very aware that Burke has all his antenna out right now, because he probably realized he might’ve crossed a line the night he beat up Marc Taylor.  And I think we also have to assume that he has…. how shall I put it?… good friends in the department who are alerting him to any, ah, unusual interest in him…”</p><p>Steve frowned.  “What, you mean guys who are turning a blind eye to what he’s been doing?”</p><p>Mike shook his head.  “No, not intentionally… I mean, I hope not.  But you know how it is, one guys crosses a line and the others don’t say anything and then all of a sudden there’s this… this blue wall of secrecy and mute consent… and the envelope gets pushed a little further…. And, remember, not everybody is as broad-minded as we are,” he said with a soft smile and gentle chuckle.  </p><p>Steve looked at his mentor with his own smile; he knew Mike was right.  For a man of his age and background, the lieutenant was unusually progressive; the result, the younger man had always assumed, of raising and loving a headstrong daughter very much of her own generation, and his own innate belief in humanity and fair play, a man whose inner life was a source of inestimable strength.</p><p>Still chuckling softly, Mike dropped his head, his smile disappearing as he sighed in disappointment.  “There’s bad apples in every bunch, Steve…”</p><p>“Yeah…”</p><p>Silence settled over the small room for several long seconds as both men contemplated their dilemma then Mike raised his head.  “Okay, this is what we’re gonna do.  No more pussy-footing around.  If Burke’s gonna be so blatant about it then so are we.  No more playing defence, we’re going on the attack.”</p><p>Steve sat up straight, his eyes widening; this was what he wanted to hear.</p><p>Mike smiled, recognizing the kindred spirit in his young partner, and the burning need for justice.  “I’m not waiting for Barry King to give us a sketch.  I want pictures of all the training officers currently on duty and recently retired.  We’re gonna go back there as soon as we can and run those pictures by him.  I want Burke’s personnel file - everything.  I want to know where he lives, what he drives, everything.  I want addresses of all the people who retracted their complaints against Burke - I want to interview them and see if his pattern holds.  And I want to track down Milo Denning.  If Burke maybe just thinks somebody’s looking into him, I want to eliminate any doubt.  I want him to know we’re looking into him.  If we can make him think twice about going after anybody in the next few days until we can slap cuffs on him, then everything’ll be worth it.  Even if it means coming after us…”  He looked at the younger man through hooded eyes, knowing he was asking more than he probably should.</p><p>Knowing exactly what his partner was saying, Steve grinned.  “Sounds good to me.”</p><p>Mike briefly closed his eyes and nodded.  “Good.”  He slapped both palms on the desk, smiling.  “Okay, let’s get to work.  You go get those photos of the training officers and Burke’s personnel file.  Use whatever you need to get them - even if you have to go all the way up to the Chief.  He owes me and I’ll take it to him directly if I have to.  And I’ll light a fire under George to get Burke’s complete IA package and I’ll make a list of some of those ‘rescinded complainants’ we can go talk to.  If were going to go after Burke, let’s make it obvious.”</p><p># # # # #</p><p>Steve was sitting in the guest chair in Mike’s office, stacking 5x7 colour photos in a file folder.  His glasses on, Mike was leaning over his desk, making notes as he worked his way slowly through Burke’s personnel file.  </p><p>The younger man glanced at his watch.  “Okay, I better get out of here if I want to get to Marc and Barry’s when I said I would.”  He had called earlier, asking if King was amenable to him dropping by with some more photos for him to look at and Taylor’s boyfriend had readily agreed.</p><p>Mike looked up and nodded.  “Good.  Tell him we really appreciate it.  And let me know if he recognizes anybody.”</p><p>“I will.”  Steve stood, pulling his jacket from the back of the chair and shrugging it on, adjusting the collar and cuffs.  He nodded towards the file.  “Anything interesting?”</p><p>Mike glanced down.  “Well, other than the fact that Burke’s a bachelor and he owns a cherry red ’68 Mustang convertible and a ’66 Harley-Davidson ElectraGlide motorcycle?  It’s red and white, by the way.”  Mike raised his eyebrows.  “Guess he has a thing for red.”</p><p>Steve was frowning, impressed.  “Jeez, that’s a big bike.  You’re not fooling around with something like that.”  He smiled as he picked up the file.  “Mid-life crisis maybe?”</p><p>The older man snorted.  “Maybe… or compensation.”  He nodded at the file in his partner’s hand.  “Good luck with those.  Oh, ah, don’t bother coming back, just go on home after you finish.  I’m not going to be here much longer either.”</p><p>“You sure?”</p><p>“Yeah, it’s late enough already.  I’ll see you tomorrow.”</p><p>“Okay.”  Steve headed out the door.  “Don’t stay too late.”</p><p># # # # #</p><p>“Okay, so I’m just going to lay all these out on the table and you just tell me if any of them look familiar, okay?”</p><p>Barry King nodded.  He was sitting beside his partner on the sofa.  In the few hours since the detective had been there earlier that day, Marc Taylor didn’t look any better.</p><p>Steve slowly began laying the photos out side by side on the large glass coffee table, keeping an eye on King as he did so, looking for the tiniest glimmer of recognition.  There were a lot of pictures, the vast majority middle-aged white men, some of whom he knew, others he recognized and the rest completely unknown.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>There was a light knock on the office door and Mike looked up overtop of his glasses.  </p><p>“You wanted to see me?” Bill Tanner asked.</p><p>“Yeah, I did.  Come on in and shut the door.”  The lieutenant took off his glasses, gesturing with them at the guest chair.</p><p>Doing as he was told, Tanner sat and leaned forward, frowning worriedly.  “Is this about Burke?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Mike nodded, frowning in concern.  “But it’s not something I want you to get involved with anymore, all right?  I think the further removed you are from all of it, the better it’ll be for Marc, all right?”</p><p>Tanner frowned.  “Is everything okay?”</p><p>“Well, let’s just say it’s picking up speed, and it’s hard to know right now which way things are going to go… so the fewer people in Burke’s sights, the better.”</p><p>“You think it’s going to get that bad?”  Tanner sounded worried.</p><p>Mike’s smile was ironic.  “Well, I hope not.  But I want you to be as far away from it as possible, okay?  It’s no longer your problem, it’s mine.  You understand?”</p><p>Tanner looked at his superior officer for a long moment, and Mike could see the emotions roiling behind the soft dark eyes.  “Mike, I’m sorry -“</p><p>“Don’t apologize,” the lieutenant interrupted smoothly.  “You’ve done nothing wrong and everything right.  It’s up to all of us to police each other… and somebody like Burke shouldn’t be hiding behind a badge, he should be in jail… and that’s where I’m hoping we can put him very soon.  So, as far as you’re concerned, you have no idea what’s going on, am I clear?”</p><p>Tanner hesitated a beat then nodded.  “Yes, sir.  Um, what about the sketch artist?  I got him booked for tomorrow night.”</p><p>Mike smiled.  “Okay, that’s great.  But I’ll get Steve to do it, okay.  I don’t want you involved anymore.  So, get yourself out of here and get home to that wife of yours… almost in time for dinner for a change.”</p><p>Getting to his feet, the inspector looked back as he opened the door.  “Thanks, Mike.  And, ah, really, if you or Steve need anything…”</p><p>“Don’t worry,” the older man grinned, “we know where you work.”</p><p># # # # #</p><p>Barry King was leaning over the table, slowly shaking his head.  “I’m sorry, Inspector Keller, I don’t recognize anybody…”</p><p>“Steve… please…” the detective said smoothly with a smile, “and don’t worry about it.  It was a longshot anyway.”</p><p>King nodded sadly, glancing at Taylor beside him with a disappointed shrug.  He looked at the photos again, pawing through a few of them.  “I mean… he sorta looks like a combination of both of these guys…”  He picked two photos up and held them towards the inspector.  “I think I’ll have more luck with the sketch artist.”</p><p>Steve nodded, gathering the photos as he tried to hide his disappointment.  “That’s fine.  I’ll check with Bill to make sure the sketch artist is available for tomorrow night.”</p><p>King looked stricken.  “Sorry… I really hoped I could be of help…”</p><p>“You are, Mr. King, believe me, you are.”</p><p># # # # #</p><p>It was dark when he found an empty space and parked the LTD on the deserted street.  He left the file on the seat beside him as he got out and strode down the block and around the corner to his favourite pizza parlour; he was hungry and wanted a couple of slices.  </p><p>Ten minutes later, the small cardboard box in hand, he started back towards the car; the overhead street lamp was out and deep shadows stretched across the sidewalk.  He stepped into the street, stopping beside the driver’s door and fishing the keys out of his pocket.  </p><p>Suddenly somebody grabbed the hair at the back of his head and slammed his face into the roof of the car.  He felt his nose break and immediately tasted blood.  Everything spun and his knees buckled.  Too stunned to even cry out, he dropped the pizza box and groped for the door of the car, trying to stay on his feet, anticipating another hit.  </p><p>He slumped slowly to the pavement, trying to turn to see his attacker.  He caught the briefest movement before he felt a heavy boot connect with his ribs and knock the wind out of him.  Crying out, gasping for breath, he instinctively curled into a ball, his arms over his head, waiting to be kicked again.</p><p>But nothing happened.  Tentatively, he lowered his arms and tried to look around.  As far as he could see he was alone.  He started to get up but the pain in chest was almost overwhelming.  He lay still for as long as it took to get some measure of control over the discomfort and got to his knees.  With shaking hands he reached into his pocket and dragged the keys out.  He pulled himself slowly to his feet and managed to get the key into the lock.  </p><p>The door was heavy and it was hard to open.  He sank into the front seat behind the wheel and, gritting his teeth against the pain, lifted the mic, pressing the button.  “Inspectors 8-1 to Dispatch… Officer needs assistance…”</p>
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<a name="section0081"><h2>81. Chapter 81</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Mike took the aluminum-foil covered plate out of the fridge and set it on the counter, then turned the oven on.  He walked back into the living room and started up the stairs, undoing his vest buttons on the way.  In his bedroom, he took off the vest and tossed it on the bed, then pulled his tie from around his neck and dropped it on top.  He was starting to roll up his shirtsleeves when the phone rang.  He picked it up on the first ring.  </p><p>“Hello?”</p><p>He froze, holding his breath as he listened.  “I’ll be right there.”  He almost threw the receiver back onto the cradle before shooting out the door.  He raced down the stairs and into the kitchen, turning the oven off and quickly sticking the plate back in the fridge.  He grabbed his jacket and hat from the end of the couch and was out the door and down to the car in record time.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>Hunched over, Steve was sitting on the side of an emergency room gurney, alone in the cubicle, when Mike almost charged through the curtains.  He pulled himself up with a jerk, breathing heavily as his wide, anxious eyes raked the young man up and down.</p><p>Steve’s shirt was open, the front covered in bloody streaks; his left arm was wrapped around his ribs.  What Mike could see of his face was covered in blood, and he was holding a small, once white towel against his nose.  His eyes were already starting to blacken.</p><p>Swallowing, trying to catch his breath, Mike took a step closer to the gurney as his partner’s pain-filled eyes turned slowly in his direction; Steve tried to smile.  “I’m okay, Mike…” he assured, trying to keep the discomfort out of his voice.  The older man knew better.</p><p>Mike put a hand on the young man’s shoulder, squeezing gently.  “How are you feeling?”</p><p>Steve attempted a laugh.  “About as good as I look, I bet…”  He felt the hand on his shoulder patting him softly.</p><p>“Do you think your ribs are broken?”  There was genuine worry in the lieutenant’s voice; it was only a couple of months ago that two of the young man’s left ribs had been broken.</p><p>Steve shook his head.  “No, I don’t think so,” he grunted through the pain.  </p><p>Another pat on the shoulder.  “That’s good…”  Mike’s brow furrowed in uneasy anticipation.  “Is your nose…?”</p><p>The inspector took the towel away from his face momentarily and the older man winced.  </p><p>“That’s gonna need some work…”</p><p>Steve nodded carefully, putting the towel back against his swollen proboscis.  He felt Mike’s hand slide from his shoulder to the back of his neck and the familiar, gentle squeeze.</p><p>Mike exhaled loudly, shaking his head.  His relief at finding his partner in better shape than he had been expecting was palpable.  But he was still rattled.  “So, ah, are they looking after you?” he asked, glancing around the empty cubicle as if the doctor was hiding somewhere.</p><p>Steve couldn’t resist a fond chuckle.  “They’ve gone to see if the x-ray room is available…. Don’t worry…”</p><p>Mike nodded self-consciously, his hand sliding from the young man’s neck to his shoulder once again.  “So, ah, so what happened?”</p><p>Despite the pain, Steve’s eyes were filled with affection.  He shook his head carefully.  “I have no idea.  I parked on Valparaiso to get a couple of slices at Delmonico’s… and when I went back to the car… somebody grabbed me from behind…”  He stopped to catch his breath; it hurt to talk but he had to get it out.  “Grabbed my hair and slammed me into the roof face first…. I went down and then I got kicked…”  He paused again, breathing in short gasps.</p><p>“Did you see who it was?”</p><p>Steve shook his head.  “Didn’t even hear them coming…”</p><p>Mike patted his shoulder again.  “Ah, do you think it could’ve been Burke?”</p><p>Their eyes met.  After a long beat, Steve tried a tiny shrug.  “I don’t know…”  A slight smile curled his lips.  When Mike’s frown deepened, he said softly, “It could’ve just been someone who was hungry… I couldn’t find my pizza.  I think they took it.”</p><p>Mike stared at him unmoving for a long second, then he dropped his head and smiled, shaking his head in relief as he chuckled.  He squeezed Steve’s shoulder once more.</p><p>The curtains parted and the doctor stepped into the cubicle, only slightly surprised to see the new arrival.  “My partner,” Steve said by way of introduction, lowering the towel slightly.</p><p>“Mike Stone,” the lieutenant introduced himself, self-consciously removing his hand from Steve’s shoulder, and the young doctor nodded.  </p><p>“Doctor Rayburn.”  He looked at Steve.  “They’re ready for you in x-ray.”  He took a step back to the curtain and opened it; an orderly pushed a wheelchair closer to the patient as Mike backed out of the way.  He looked at Steve.</p><p>“I’ll wait out there.”</p><p>The younger man looked at him and smiled as he prepared himself for the pain of getting off the gurney and into the wheelchair.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>It was almost an hour before Dr. Rayburn appeared in the waiting room and got Mike’s attention.  The detective almost jogged across the room.</p><p>“How is he, Doc?”</p><p>“Well, his ribs aren’t broken, or even cracked.  He was lucky.  But they are badly bruised.  And his nose is broken, as I’m sure you already know, but his jaw and his facial bones are okay.  We’re gonna to admit him, just as a precaution.  He told us about the broken ribs and collapsed lung he had a couple of months ago so we’re gonna keep him overnight but he should be good to go home sometime tomorrow morning.  He is going to have to have his nose set tonight though.  Hopefully that’ll heal without a problem but he might need plastic surgery sometime in the future so it doesn’t…”  The doctor stopped mid-sentence, staring at the lieutenant with widened, almost embarrassed eyes.  </p><p>There was a distinct twinkle in the blue eyes staring back at him.  “So it doesn’t end up looking like mine, you meant to say…?”</p><p>“Um, well, ah…” Rayburn stammered.</p><p>Mike’s face creased into a wide smile and he started to chuckle, reaching out to pat the young physician’s upper arm.  “Relax, Doc, I gave up being sensitive about my nose years ago…. I wear it with a sense of pride now.”</p><p>Exhaling loudly with a chuckle of his own, Rayburn grinned with relief at the older man.  “Thank you.  Anyway, uh, your partner will be moved into a room shortly.  Would you like to see him before you leave?”</p><p>Mike nodded, still smiling.  “Yes, I would.”</p><p>“All right then, I’ll have an orderly come and get you when we get him settled in.”</p><p>“Thanks, Doc.”  With a relieved sigh, Mike retreated to the chair he had been occupying and sat heavily.  It was turning out to be a very long day, and it wasn’t over yet.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>“What the hell happened?!”</p><p>The gruff voice, no doubt aimed at him, snapped Mike out of the stupor he had fallen into as he waited to see his partner again.  His head jerked up as someone came to a sudden stop in front of him and he blinked slowly, trying to focus.</p><p>“Rudy… what the hell are you doing here?”</p><p>“I got a call from Fred in Dispatch.  He figured I should know one of my detectives got beaten up tonight.  Something, by the way, I should’ve heard from you…”</p><p>Mike was already shaking his head.  “He didn’t get beaten up… well, not really…”</p><p>“He’s in a hospital, isn’t he?”</p><p>“… and he wasn’t on duty at the time -“</p><p>“He called Dispatch for assistance.  What are you trying not to tell me?”  Olsen was glaring down at the lieutenant, obviously not about to give any quarter.  </p><p>Mike knew he was outgunned.  He exhaled in frustration as he nodded at the empty seat beside him.  “Sit down.”</p><p>Frowning, Olsen took the seat.  </p><p>“Rudy, this has to stay between you and me, okay?  Lives might depend on it.”</p><p># # # # #</p><p>“Well, you look marginally better.”</p><p>Wearing a light blue hospital gown and covered with a flannelette blanket, Steve was lying against the raised bedhead in a small private room.  The white bandage over his nose stood out in stark contrast against the blackening eyes and bruised forehead.  “I don’t feel any better.”  His voice was muffled by the packing in his nose.</p><p>Mike winced.  “Well, I’m glad they’re keeping you overnight.  How are your ribs?”</p><p>Steve shuffled slightly, his brow furrowing.  “Sore….”</p><p>“I bet.”  The older man smiled dryly.  “So, ah, Rudy showed up.”</p><p>“Here?”</p><p>“Yeah.  Fred Dwyer in Dispatch gave him a call…”</p><p>“Ah, good old Fred…” Steve snorted sarcastically.</p><p>“Yeah…. Anyway, Rudy of course wanted to know what happened?”</p><p>“What did you tell him?”</p><p>“Everything.”</p><p>Steve frowned.  “Really…?”</p><p>Mike shrugged and bobbled his head.  “Well, not… all of everything, but I told him of our suspicions and what we’re doing… sort of…”</p><p>“Sort of…?”</p><p>“Well, I didn’t mention anything about Bill’s connection to this whole thing… and I didn’t mention that we suspect Burke is gay… but I gave him enough to satisfy him for now…”  He looked away and made a face.  “Although I’m pretty sure he knew I wasn’t telling him the whole truth…”</p><p>“So what did he say?”</p><p>“Well, I told him we wanted to handle it on our own for now so it didn’t get out of control… and, ah, he agreed, sort of… with the promise that if we need help, we’ve got it,” he snapped his fingers, “just like that.”</p><p>“Did he ask if it was Burke that did this?”  Steve pointed at his face.</p><p>“He did.”</p><p>“What did you tell him?”</p><p>“The truth.  That it could’ve been Burke but we didn’t have proof ‘cause you didn’t see who it was.”  He cleared his throat and smiled.  “I also told him it could’ve just been a hungry pizza thief, like you said.”  He dropped the smile and shrugged slightly.  “Rudy didn’t think that was very funny.”</p><p>Steve chuckled then winced.</p><p>Mike laughed.  “Listen, ah, I’ll swing by your place tomorrow morning and pick you up a change of clothes and then - and don’t even think about fighting me on this - I’m going to take you back to my place for the day and night and then you can go home the day after that.”  Steve opened his mouth to protest but Mike waved a forefinger at him.  “Don’t argue.  And you are not to come into work until you’re better -“</p><p>“Mike…”</p><p>“No, and that’s an order.”</p><p>“So, what, you’re gonna take on Burke on your own?  I don’t think so -“</p><p>“I’m not gonna take him on on my own.  I’m gonna talk to George Cassidy tomorrow.  He knows all about this kinda stuff.  I’ll pick his brain.”  He tilted his head and widened his eyes.  “Satisfied?”</p><p>Steve stared at him for a long second then smiled slightly.  “Satisfied… for now.”</p><p>Mike reached out and gently cupped the back of the younger man’s head.  “I’m glad you’re going to be okay.  Try to get some sleep and I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”</p><p>Steve nodded carefully, trying not to wince.  “Be careful.  If Burke did this to me, he might not think twice about going after you too, you know…”</p><p>“I know… But think about it; he could’ve killed you easily tonight if he wanted to… and he didn’t.  If it was him, then maybe he just wanted to put a little scare into the two of us.”  He raised his eyebrows and tilted his head, then he smiled.  “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure to lock my car doors and put the chain on my front door.”</p><p>“It’s getting from the car into the house that could be the problem,” Steve half-joked and they both chuckled softly.</p><p>Mike gently patted the back of his partner’s head again before taking his hand away.  “Try to get some sleep.”</p><p># # # # #</p><p>He got into his car in the almost deserted parking lot, reaching over his shoulder to lock the door with a wry smile.  He shifted into Reverse, turning in the seat to back out of the parking spot and froze, slamming on the brakes as he caught a glimpse of the rear end of a cherry red sports car driving away.</p>
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<a name="section0082"><h2>82. Chapter 82</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>As he stuck his key into the lock, Mike looked over his shoulder, scanning the street as he opened the front door.  There were no cars he didn’t recognize, and definitely no cherry red Mustangs.  But, as he had promised his partner only half in jest, after he closed the door he put the chain on, something he hadn’t done in years.</p><p>It was late, very late.  He wasn’t exactly sure what time it was but it was well past midnight.  He stood at the front door for a few long seconds, staring longingly into the kitchen.  He still hadn’t had dinner, though he did eat a chocolate bar from a vending machine at the hospital.  </p><p>With a resigned sigh, he dragged himself up the stairs in the hopes he could get a few hours sleep before another busy day started.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>Mike put the large paper bag on the end of the bed.  “I didn’t bring shoes, I assumed the ones you had on were still good to go,” he smiled as he looked at the room’s sole occupant.  “You look… somewhat better this morning…”  In truth, Steve didn’t at all.  “How are you feeling?”</p><p>Through now black eyes above the white bandage over his nose, the inspector glared at him balefully.  “How do you think?”</p><p>“O-kay,” Mike said slowly, mostly to himself, realizing his day was not getting off to the best start.  He smiled perfunctorily with a nod.  “I’ll, ah, I’ll go find out how long this is going to take.”</p><p>An hour later, they were in the car and on the way to De Haro.  Conversation had been at a premium.  Mike looked across the front seat at his sullen companion and cleared his throat quietly but didn’t say anything.  Finally Steve looked over and sighed.</p><p>“Sorry, Mike, I, ah, I just feel like crap… and I’m mad at myself for letting this happen.  I should’ve been more… vigilant.  I let my guard down.  And now I’ve let you down.”</p><p>“Hey, that’s not true,” Mike assured quickly as he turned the car onto De Haro and started up the steep hill.  “And as for being vigilant, you were buying pizza, for god’s sake.  And you had no reason to believe Burke or any of his buddies would be tailing you…”</p><p>“If it was Burke…”</p><p>“Exactly.  If it was Burke.  And, like you said, your pizza did disappear, so…?”  The older man chuckled as he swung the car to the curb across the street from his house.  He shifted into Park.  “Come on.  Let’s go in and I’ll put on a fresh pot of that Kona coffee for you.  I’ve gotta get back to the office, lots to do today.”  He nodded into the back seat.  “Leave the bag, I’ll bring it in.”</p><p>Grateful for the confidence and the concern, Steve crawled out of the car and began the long slow climb up to the house.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>Tanner knocked on the windowpane then stepped into the office, closing the door behind him.  Mike looked up over his glasses.</p><p>“Jeez, I just heard about Steve,” the black inspector frowned as he hovered over the desk, his hands on his hips.  “Is he okay?</p><p>Mike smiled as he took his glasses off, nodding.  “Yeah.  He’s a little busted up, bruised ribs and a broken nose, but he’s okay.  I’ve got him at my place right now but he’s going home tomorrow.  And he’ll be taking the next few days off.”</p><p>Tanner frowned worriedly.  “So you’re handling the Burke thing all by yourself?  Is that wise?”</p><p>“I’m not going to do anything stupid by myself, so you can relax.  I’m just going to spend the next few days going over some new material we just got.  I’m not going to face down Burke until I need to, and I promise you I won’t do it alone.”</p><p>The inspector fidgeted and Mike knew he wasn’t happy with the answer but he had to accept it.  “Do you think it was Burke that attacked Steve last night?”</p><p>Mike shrugged.  “We don’t know.  Steve didn’t see who it was.  But if it was Burke, and he was trying to shut Steve up, well, he had the perfect opportunity to take him out permanently and he didn’t, so…?  It may have just been a random mugging… for pizza…”  Mike couldn’t resist a slight smile.</p><p>“For pizza…” Tanner repeated pedantically and his lieutenant nodded, still smiling.  “Okay… ah, well, if you need a hand…?”</p><p>Mike’s smile got a little wider.  “You bet.  Thanks a lot, Bill.  I appreciate it.  But you can do me one favour though.”</p><p>“Name it.”</p><p>“Well, with Steve out -“</p><p>“The sketch artist,” Tanner finished the train of thought.  “Don’t worry, Mike, I’ll take care of it.”</p><p># # # # #</p><p>It was after seven when a weary Mike Stone dragged himself through his own front door.  He didn’t even bother to take off his hat before dropping heavily into the armchair and raising the leg rest.</p><p>Trying to smile despite the lingering pain, Steve entered slowly from the kitchen with a freshly opened cold can of beer in his hand and approached the armchair.  “You’re later than you thought,” he mumbled around his blocked nose as he handed the frosty can to the thankful lieutenant.</p><p>“Busy day,” Mike sighed before taking a sip then sniffing the air.  “Is that pot roast I smell?”</p><p>Steve nodded carefully.  “I put that plate you had in the fridge in the oven.  It’s ready when you feel like it.”</p><p>“Thanks, buddy boy,” the older man smiled.</p><p>Steve sat on the couch.  “I tried to call you this afternoon but you were out.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Mike nodded.  “I put together a list of some of those people who’d complained about Burke then rescinded their complaints and I visited a few of them today, including Simon Hawthorne, the guy who filed the excessive force complaint.”</p><p>Steve leaned forward, frowning.  “And?”</p><p>“Well, the people who rescinded their complaints wouldn’t talk to me about it… not one, which I found… disconcerting.  But there was definitely a pattern to it, to who they were and how they refused to talk to me.  And it confirms what we thought all along…. Burke has a real problem with gay people and black people.”</p><p>Steve exhaled loudly through his mouth, wincing slightly at the effort.  “What about Hawthorne?”</p><p>Mike snorted, leaning forward to put the beer can on the coffee table.  “Well, that was very interesting.  He wouldn’t go into any more detail than what was in the complaint… but he did say one thing that caught my attention.  He said that two days ago, he thought he saw a patrol car with Burke in it drive by the restaurant where he works.  He’s a waiter.  The restaurant has an outdoor patio and he was serving a customer when he saw this cruiser go by really slowly and he looked up and thought he saw Burke staring at him.”</p><p>“Just like my friend Carl…” Steve said quietly, his stare unfocusing.</p><p>“Yeah,” Mike agreed softly, nodding.</p><p>“What do you think?  You think Burke is starting to lose it?”</p><p>Mike raised his eyebrows and shrugged.  “I don’t know…. The big question is, of course, if Burke really knows what we’re doing, are we pushing him too far and he’s losing control, or was he losing control already?”</p><p>“Well, then you’re not going to like this.  I got a call from Carl an hour or so ago.  He swears to god he saw Burke drive slowly by his house in a red Mustang.”</p><p>“Today?”  Mike sounded alarmed.</p><p>“Yeah, just a couple of hours ago.  Why?”</p><p>“I checked his schedule.  Burke has today, tomorrow and the next day off.  So we have no idea where he is.”</p><p>The both fell silent, contemplating the implications.  </p><p>Steve looked at his partner.  “Did you talk to George Cassidy?”</p><p>The older man nodded.  “Yeah.  I brought him up to speed.  I told him I wasn’t going to confront Burke until I had a lot more on him, and George said he’s gonna look into some things from his end.”  He raised his eyebrows and smiled reassuringly.  “Don’t worry, he’s doing it on the Q.T. just like I am.  And George has had a lot of practice doing that over the years, believe me.”</p><p>“I bet he does…”</p><p>“So, anyway, when we decide to make the move, we’ve got IA backing us up a hundred percent.  And those guys really know what they’re doing when it comes to dirty cops, so we’ll have lots of experience on our side, and we won’t be alone.”</p><p>Steve stared into his partner’s warm blue eyes.  “I sure hope so.”</p><p># # # # #</p><p>Mike was sitting in the passenger side of the front seat of the LTD with the door open, talking on the police radio, as Steve came slowly down the stairs.  He glanced up and waved to the young man animatedly.  Steve picked up the pace as best he could.  When he got to the car he could hear his partner say, “Patch him through,” and hold the mic out.  Steve took it.</p><p>“It’s a landline call,” Mike said, “from your friend Carl.”</p><p>Frowning, Steve pushed the talk button.  “Carl?”</p><p>“Steve?”</p><p>“Yeah, what is it, buddy?”</p><p>“Burke.  I think he’s here, man.  That red Mustang I saw him in yesterday?  It’s parked just down my street.  I saw it when I went out to get the paper just now.”</p><p>“You sure it’s the same car?”</p><p>“It’s the same car, I’ll swear on it.”</p><p>Mike was already circling the LTD and getting in behind the wheel.  He looked over at his partner.  “Tell him I’ll be over there as soon as I drop you off.”  When Steve opened his mouth to protest, Mike pointed a forefinger at him.  “You’re going home, no arguments.”</p><p>Frowning in anger, Steve pressed the talk button again.  “Carl, Mike is going to drop me off then head over to your place.”</p><p>“Tell him we’ll send a black-and-white over until I can get there.”</p><p>Steve relayed the message.  “Yeah, he’ll be there as soon as he can.  He won’t be long.  Don’t do anything stupid, okay.”  He finished the call and closed the door before hanging up the mic.</p><p>As the sedan shot down De Haro, Mike glanced across the front seat.  “He’s a cop, remember?  He can look after himself.”</p><p>“So’s Burke…”<br/># # # # #</p><p>Mike watched until Steve was safely in the apartment and the door was closed then he stood on the gas and the LTD shot up Union to the corner.  There wasn’t much traffic and he rolled the stop on Montgomery as he turned left, his eyes scanning both sides of the street as he started to speed up.</p><p>Instinctively he glanced to his right as he passed the half-block long dead end that was Montague Place, its north side lined with parked cars.  He was almost past the narrow street when he stomped on the brake and the large sedan squealed to a stop.  </p><p>He stared.  Poking out between two cars about halfway down the short block was the tail of a large motorcycle; it looked red.  Something exploded in Mike’s brain.</p><p>His heart starting to pound, he threw the LTD into reverse and skidded back several feet, throwing up smoke from the burning rubber.  Not even waiting for the tires to stop spinning, he shifted into Drive and shot down the block, slamming to stop behind the motorcycle.</p><p>It was a red-and-white Harley-Davidson ElectraGlide… and he knew it was Burke’s.</p><p>“Shit!”  He slammed the gearshift into Reverse and backed the car down the street, shooting out onto Montgomery, hoping there were no cars on the busy street as he did so.  He was lucky, though he did hear one startled car horn blare.  He slewed the car’s rear end to the left as he jammed on the brakes and threw the transmission into Drive, screaming back up Montgomery and sliding into the right turn onto Union almost without slowing down.</p><p>And he knew, without a doubt, that Burke was in Steve’s apartment.</p>
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<a name="section0083"><h2>83. Chapter 83</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Steve closed the front door and stood quietly without moving for several long seconds, the paper bag with his blood-stained clothes in one hand.  His head was pounding and his ribs aching now more than ever; he hadn’t told Mike, not wanting his partner to worry.  He crossed slowly to the stairs and bent his knees gingerly, setting the paper bag on the first step before starting towards the kitchen.  He reached into his jacket pocket for the small plastic bottle of Demerol. </p><p>It took a couple of tries to get the cap off the bottle and he tipped one of the small pills out onto his hand then put it on the counter.  Turning on the cold water tap, he opened the cupboard to his right and took a small glass out.  He stuck his hand under the running water, waiting for it to turn from tepid to cold; it always took awhile.  Satisfied it was cold enough, he had just put the glass under the tap when he heard a noise behind him and suddenly every hair on the back of his neck stood up, every cop instinct on full alert.  And he also knew he was too late.  He froze, closing his eyes, and waited.</p><p>“Put the glass down and turn the water off,” a deep voice reached his ears.  He didn’t move.  “I said put the glass down and turn the water off or I’ll put a bullet in the back of your head.”</p><p>Steve took a deep breath through his mouth, hearing the blood pounding in his ears.  Trying to keep his hand from shaking, he set the glass down in the sink and turned the tap off.  He heard two heavy steps on the kitchen tile then felt a hand grab the hair on the back of his head and what he could only assume was the barrel of gun shoved into his side.  He gasped in pain as his head was roughly pulled back.  “What do you want, Burke?” he gasped through gritted teeth.</p><p>He heard a dry, almost vicious laughing snort.  “Well, it isn’t you, sport.  But you’re gonna get me where I want to go.”  He started to pull the inspector away from the sink, trying to propel him towards the living room.</p><p>Steve didn’t resist but he didn’t cooperate either.  He groaned, stumbling, as he was turned roughly and Burke had to struggle to keep the younger man on his feet.  The sergeant shoved him forward and he staggered, almost going down.  As Burke pulled him up, Steve looked at him coldly.  “You going after Carl, Sergeant…?” he asked with a contorted grin, chuckling dryly.  “Good luck… ‘cause he’s ready for you…”  He let his knees buckle, trying to become dead weight.</p><p>Burke’s eyes flared with anger.  “You dumb bastard, I’m not after him!”  He dragged Steve violently to his feet, shoving him back against the counter.  The inspector gasped in pain, doubling over, black spots swimming before his eyes as the room spun.  He started to sink to his knees.  Burke’s grip on his upper arm tightened and he pulled the injured man up and pushed him forward again.</p><p>As Steve took an unsteady step, a vicelike grip on his arm and the gun still pressed against his side, Mike Stone, his .38 in both hands in front of him, stepped into the kitchen doorway.</p><p>“You’re not going anywhere, Burke,” he said quietly.</p><p>Everybody froze.  Burke’s rictus grin vanished; a brief, almost relieved but terrified smile washed over the pain-filled face of the young inspector.  Then, in a flash, Burke was in motion.  He pulled Steve back towards him, taking his left hand off the inspector’s arm as he stepped behind him and threw his arm around the cop’s neck, grabbing him in a chokehold as he raised his right hand and pressed the barrel of the gun against Steve’s temple.</p><p>The inspector groaned in pain, raising both hands to ineffectively grope at the beefy forearm around his neck, pressing against his throat.  Through his own pain and fear, he could see the terror in his partner’s eyes as Mike trained his revolver on Burke, who was almost completely shielded by his hostage.</p><p>“You’re not going to get away with this,” Mike said smoothly and calmly and Burke snorted in disgust.</p><p>“You really think I’m gonna believe anything you say, Stone?  I’ve been in your shoes, remember?!  I know what you’re gonna say before you even say it, so why don’t you just shut your mouth and get outa the way, if you want your baby boy here to live to see another day.”  To emphasize his words, he tightened his arm and Steve choked.  </p><p>Mike’s eyes widened.  “Okay, okay, okay,” he said softly, pulling back just slightly enough to let Burke know his words were being heard, if not believed.  The arm around his partner’s neck relaxed almost imperceptibly and Steve coughed.  “So what’s this all about, Darren?” he asked quietly, taking a chance by using Burke’s first name, knowing full well the tactic could backfire.  “You going to take out everybody who knows your little secret?”</p><p>Burke’s eyes widened in surprise then, frighteningly, he started to chuckle.  Both homicide detectives frowned slightly, taken aback.  “You actually think that’s what this is all about?” the sergeant spat out, disdain in his tone.  “Oh my god, you guys really are stupid, aren’t you?”</p><p>Steve could see the subtle confusion in his partner’s eyes as Mike scrambled to figure out the real reason Burke was acting as he was.  Then suddenly a calmness settled over the older man’s strong features and a subtle smile curled his lips.  </p><p>Mike snorted softly.  “You know, I’ve been trying to figure out why you were suddenly going off the deep end, Darren…  After living your entire life in the closet, it didn’t make any sense that you’d suddenly go all… psycho.  And the beating of Marc Taylor?  Despite what we thought, that really wasn’t the start of this… descent into madness, was it?”</p><p>Burke stared, not saying a word, and Mike suddenly knew he was on the right track.  He pressed even more.  “Oh, you want to take him out… permanently.  That’s what this is all about, we know that.  But it’s not because of the reason we thought.”</p><p>Mike’s eyes slid from Burke’s to his partner’s, trying to relay a sense of calm and reassurance.  “We had it wrong, Steve.  This wasn’t about Burke trying to keep his little secret.”  He shook his head.  “It’s bigger than that.”  He looked at Burke again.  “Mr. Taylor was a mark for you, wasn’t he?  He was a successful lawyer in a prestigious firm, a young man who made a lot of money.  That’s why you went after him.  You were setting him up to shake him down.”</p><p>Steve felt Burke shift his weight behind him and he knew that Mike had struck a nerve.</p><p>“Is that how you did it?  You staked out young professional men who were in the closet, and who had a lot to lose if their sexual orientation was made public.  Is that how you could afford that big house over in Pacific Heights?  The Mustang?  The Harley…?”  Mike smiled wryly.  “That was a smart move, leaving the Mustang near Carl Lemire’s place, making him think you were stalking him.  But you got sloppy, Darren.  I found the motorcycle…”</p><p>“Yeah, well, how are you going stop me now, Stone?”  Burke spat the words out, digging the barrel a little deeper into the side of Steve’s head.  The young man stiffened, closing his eyes briefly.</p><p>Mike let a tense pause linger then he said softly, “There’s got to be a little cop still left inside you, Darren.  The part that knows we’re not going to let you get away with this… no matter what.”</p><p>Burke snorted derisively.  “If that’s the best you can do, Stone, this kid’s as good as dead.”</p><p>“You’re going to kill a cop because you were caught committing extortion?  Does that make any sense, Darren?  Any sense at all?”</p><p>Steve could feel the rigid body pressed against his own relax almost imperceptibly and he stared at his partner, trying to let him know his words were starting to hit their mark.</p><p>“You’ve made mistakes…” Mike continued softly, his gun still trained on what he could see of Burke’s head.  “Big mistakes, for sure, but you haven’t killed anybody, have you, Darren?  So for god’s sake, don’t start now…”</p><p>Burke’s eyes, which had been boring unblinkingly at the lieutenant’s face, softened slightly and he blinked several times.  Mike almost smiled.  But as if a switch had been thrown, a black cloud washed over the sergeant’s sharp features and Steve felt Burke’s entire body stiffen, the arm tighten around his neck.  </p><p>“They’re garbage, all of them.  They’re not human beings…”</p><p>“Who, Darren?  The men you blackmailed?  The men you beat up and threatened?  The men like you?  Do you really hate yourself that much?”</p><p>The brown eyes hardened and Mike realized too late he had said the wrong thing.</p><p>Burke’s face turned dark, the tendons standing out starkly on his heck, the veins in his temples, and he threw his head back and roared.  Steve felt the pressure of the barrel disappear and watched in horror as the gun swung away from his head and towards Mike.  He could see the sudden fear in the lieutenant’s eyes, knowing he had no clear shot at Burke without endangering his own partner, as the sergeant’s revolver suddenly roared.</p><p>Mike cried out in pain and shock as he was thrown back violently, spinning to his left and crashing heavily face first onto the floor, the unfired gun in his right hand hitting the hardwood with a loud bang.  Nobody moved for a long second then, almost miraculously, Mike groaned and very slowly started to bring his arms closer to his body, trying to get up.  Audibly gasping for breath, he had pushed himself up slightly when Burke, as if coming out of a stupor, pointed his .38 at the fallen cop once more.  And before Steve realized what was going on, before he could react, Burke fired a second time.</p><p>The bullet tore through the fabric of Mike’s jacket in the middle of his back.  The lieutenant dropped to the floor again.  But this time he didn’t move.</p><p>“Mike!” Steve screamed, oblivious to the pain, his eyes riveted on his partner’s body, begging for any sign of life.  “Mike…”  Burke slammed the barrel of the gun against his ribs and he gasped in agony.  Tears were already blurring his vision and he tried to pull out of the sergeant’s grip.</p><p>“Don’t fight me,” Burke hissed violently into his ear, pressing his forearm against the younger man’s throat.  “You know I have nothing left to lose, you little shit.  I could put a bullet in you right now and walk away and nobody’d find me…. But your partner was right.  I’ve got a score to settle and I’m gonna do it before this is all over and I need your sorry ass to help me do it.”</p><p>Burke released the pressure on Steve’s throat and the younger man gasped for air, his face wet with tears as he clawed ineffectively at the arm still around his neck.  With an almost victorious grunt, Burke began to drag the smaller man across the kitchen into the living room and towards the front door.  </p><p>As they stumbled past Mike’s body, Steve stared down at his partner, his vision blurred with tears as he gasped for breath, trying to drag air into his lungs.  </p><p>They got to the front door.  Burke slammed him into the door and Steve cried out in agony as his nose hit the wood.  The sergeant leaned forward, his lips close to the inspector’s ear.  “I don’t care a flying f%#@ about you… and I won’t hesitate to put a bullet in your back.  But I need you to get me where I want to go.  And if that doesn’t happen, I’ll not only kill you, but I’ll kill everybody you care about, and everybody that stands in my way….  So if you don’t want to be responsible for any more death… then you do exactly what you’re told.”  He slammed Steve into the door again.  “You understand me?”</p><p>Trying to fight the pain, the fear and the grief, Steve nodded unsteadily.  Burke pulled him back a step so he could open the door.  Then, with the barrel of the gun pressed against the small of his back, Steve and Burke walked out of the apartment.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0084"><h2>84. Chapter 84</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The tan LTD was angled into the curb in front of the apartment.  One hand on the smaller man’s elbow, the other holding the .38 in the small of his back, Burke propelled a stunned, almost catatonic Steve down the three small sets of stairs to the sidewalk and the passenger side door of the unmarked police car.  The windows were open and Burke stuck his head in; the keys were dangling from the ignition.</p><p>With a happy grunt, he opened the door and shoved the younger man towards the seat.  “Get in,” he growled, “you’re driving.”</p><p>Turning to look up at the apartment, trying to mask an involuntary whimper, Steve ducked as he got into the front seat and slid across, Burke getting in quickly behind him, slipping the gun into his left hand and pointing it at his side.  Glaring across the seat, Steve turned the key and the engine roared to life.  “Where are we going?” he spat out.</p><p>Burke smile was more of a leer.  “You know where we’re going…”</p><p>“Carl Lemire’s?”  He reached for the gear shift.</p><p>“No!” Burke snorted harshly.  “Why the hell would we go there?  Lemire’s a decoy, you stupid ass…”  He shook his head in derision.  “We’re going to Taylor’s.”</p><p>Steve’s head went back slightly.  “Taylor… why him?”</p><p>Burke slammed the barrel of the gun into the inspector’s side.  “Drive,” he ordered.</p><p>His hand shaking, trying to ignore the throbbing in his skull, Steve slid the gearshift into Reverse and backed the LTD up a few feet before pulling it into a tight U-turn.  As he started up the street towards Montgomery, he glanced back at the apartment, his breath catching in the back of his throat.</p><p>As the sedan turned the corner, the sound of distant sirens became audible and he could see a black-and-white, lights flashing, heading up Montgomery towards them.  Speeding with caution through the red lights, the cruiser was almost on them when Burke dug the gun into Steve’s side again, grunting, “Don’t even think about it…”</p><p>Steve watched helplessly as the cruiser shot past them.  He glanced into the rearview mirror as it turned onto Union; Mike must have called for back-up before he entered the apartment.</p><p>“Don’t miss the turn,” Burke snarled, pointing through the windshield and Steve snapped the signal on and made a right.</p><p>After a few seconds, he asked, trying to keep his tone conversational, “So why Marc Taylor?”</p><p>The sergeant looked at him as if he was a teacher addressing a particularly slow student.  “‘Cause he’s the one that started this whole ball of shit rolling…. If he had just done what I wanted him to…”</p><p>“You mean let you blackmail him?”  Steve knew he was straying into very dangerous territory, but he had to continue the line of questioning that Mike had started.  He caught his breath, the image of his partner’s lifeless body lying on his living room floor flashing before his eyes.  He blinked quickly to clear the tears, trying to concentrate on his driving and the psychotic man beside him.</p><p>“That’s all the stupid f$#@ had to do.”  Burke sounded almost regretful but Steve knew it was self-pity talking.</p><p>Steve made a left turn.  Midday traffic was building and their progress was slowing.  He knew Mike had sent a black-and-white to Lemire’s in response to the Mustang, but there was no one at Taylor’s except the injured man himself.  He had to find a way to alert someone before they got there or Burke would be leaving two more bodies behind when he left.  He could feel the pressure of the barrel against his side and he knew his odds were not good.</p><p>But by the time he pulled the LTD to a stop at the curb just down the block from Marc Taylor’s house, any chance of alerting anyone as to what was to come, or the hope that the cavalry would come riding over the hill, had completely disappeared.  He was entirely on his own.  </p><p>He turned the car off.  “Get out,” Burke barked.  “Don’t try anything funny.  I’ve already killed one cop and I can kill you too.”</p><p>With a angry glance across the front seat, that Burke countered with a thrust of the gun barrel into his ribs again, Steve began to open his door.  “No,” Burke ordered and he stopped, looking back across the seat, no longer even trying to hide his contempt.  “This side.”  The sergeant gestured with the gun as he slipped out the door and Steve slid across the seat to follow, trying to ignore the pain in his chest.</p><p>They walked towards the house side by side.  Steve knew Burke had the gun handy even though it was out of sight in his jacket pocket, and he was also well aware that in his present condition, he couldn’t outrun the very fit training officer, so bolting was out of the question.</p><p>They approached the door of the elegant pale blue three-storey Queen Anne and climbed the steps to the front door.  Trying not to let Burke see his trembling hand, Steve knocked.  Nobody came to the door.  After several seconds, Burke stage-whispered through clenched teeth, “Try again.”  He did, but the door remained closed.</p><p>Steve looked at the sergeant from the corner of his eye.  “I guess he’s not home,” he said flatly with a hint of sarcasm in his tone.</p><p>Burke glared at him, at a loss for words and unsure what to do next.  Suddenly he turned on the landing.  “Let’s go,” he barked.</p><p>They were half way down the steps when an older woman in capris, a sunhat and gardening gloves appeared on the sidewalk looking up at them.  “Can I help you gentlemen?” she asked pleasantly with a wide, friendly smile that wobbled slightly when she spied the younger man’s bruised and bandaged face.</p><p>With a quick look at Burke, Steve took another step down, taking charge of the situation.  “Ah, yes,” he smiled as best he could, trying to allay her concern, “I’m Inspector Keller and this is Sergeant Burke.”  Out of habit, he slipped his right hand into his pants pocket, his eyes widening when he touched the badge case; he’d forgotten it was there.  He took it out and opened it so she could see the star and I.D.  “We’re here to follow up on Mr. Taylor’s recent assault.”</p><p>“Oh, yes,” she said sadly, her brow furrowing.  “Poor Marc.  But he’s getting better… slowly.  Did, um, did you…?”  She gestured vaguely towards his face.</p><p>“Oh, ah, yes, I was mugged but not at the same time.”  He shrugged slightly, continuing to smile as he glanced pointedly over his shoulder.  “They aren’t home…?”</p><p>“Oh no,” she said, perking up, sounding pleased she could impart some relevant information, “they’ve taken a apartment for a month.  A sublet, I think.”  She leaned forward conspiratorially and put a hand to her mouth, whispering loudly.  “They have plumbing problems…. Happens a lot in these old houses, you know.”</p><p>“Do you know where the apartment is?” Burke inserted himself into the conversation, taking a step down to be closer to Steve in case the younger man decided to try something stupid, like run.</p><p>The woman looked up at him.  “No, sorry, I don’t.”  She smiled apologetically then perked up again.  “But I have a phone number.  Would that help?”</p><p>Both cop’s eyes rose in surprise, Burke’s in relief, Steve’s in frustration.  He had been hoping that this unanticipated hitch in the plan might have persuaded the sergeant to abort his campaign of vengeance.</p><p>“Yes, it certainly would.  Thank you,” Burke responded smoothly, taking another step down so he was now side by side with the battered young inspector, both of them hovering over the smiling woman.</p><p>“I’ve got it in my house,” she said brightly.  “Come with me.”</p><p>As she led them towards the sea foam and white Queen Anne next door, it’s porch dotted with large terra cotta plant pots that she seemed to be working on, Burke kept a half-step behind his reluctant companion, his hand on Steve’s back, more a warning than an aid, a reminder that the gun was within easy reach.</p><p>“Your house is lovely,” Steve commented as he followed the woman up the stairs and she glanced back.</p><p>“Thank you.  We try,” she chuckled as she opened the front door.  “I’ll just be a second.”  She disappeared into the house, pushing the door to behind her.</p><p>Steve turned to Burke.  “You’re really going to go to the apartment?”</p><p>Burke’s glare was hard and cold.  “Why not?  I can kill him there just as easily as here.  Besides, if I don’t, what do you think I’m gonna do with you… hunh?”  He stared at the defiant younger man, raising his eyebrows to emphasize his point.</p><p>“Here it is!” came the lilting voice from inside the house and they both turned as the woman opened the door again and stepped out onto the porch, a small piece of paper in her hand.  She handed it to Steve.  “You can keep that.”</p><p>Steve nodded.  “Thank you very much.”  He folded it and put it in his pocket.</p><p>As both cops turned to leave, she stopped them.  “Do you want to use my phone to call Marc?” she offered, smiling pleasantly.</p><p>Steve nodded, taking a step back towards the house.  “That would be -“</p><p>“No,” Burke said suddenly, grabbing the younger man’s sleeve and pulling him to a stop.  He smiled.  “No, that’s okay, we don’t want to bother you anymore.  I know where there’s a payphone we can use.  But thank you anyway.”</p><p>The woman’s smile wavered.  “Oh… well, all right then.”  </p><p>Both cops smiled and nodded.  “Thank you very much, ma’am,” Steve said politely as he turned and led his companion down the stairs, suddenly wanting to get Burke as far away from this woman as quickly as possible.</p><p>They returned to the car, Burke taking the gun out of his jacket pocket and pointing it across the front seat once again as Steve started the engine then looked at the sergeant expectantly.  “Well…?”</p><p>Burke nodded through the windshield.  “There’s a coupla payphones in the small parking lot beside the 7-11 on Castro at 19th.”</p><p>With an angry sigh, Steve shifted into Drive and stepped on the gas.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>There was one empty spot in the tiny lot near the payphones.  Both men got out.  Taking the piece of paper with the number out of his pocket, Steve picked up the receiver, stuffed a coin in the slot and listened for a tone before he started to dial.  Burke hovered behind him, his hand on the grip of the gun in his pocket.</p><p>Steve finished dialing and listened.  He glanced down at Burke’s pocket, well aware the gun was pointing at him and the sergeant’s finger was on the trigger.  And he had no illusions about Burke’s willingness to pull it.  The image of his partner’s body flashed though his mind again and he closed his eyes.</p><p>“Yes, hello, is this Barry?… Yeah, this is Steve Keller, Inspector Keller… Yes, thanks, we’re fine…. Yeah, we heard.  Plumbing problems, hunh?…. Yeah I bet.  Listen, uh, could I speak to Marc?…. Thanks.”  He looked at Burke and nodded.  “Hi, Marc, this is Steve Keller…. Yeah, that’s what your neighbor said.  She gave us this number, I hope that’s okay?…. Okay, great, thanks.  Ah, the reason I’m calling, well, we’ve uncovered a few more things with regards to Burke’s accomplice and we’d like to run them past you and Barry if that’s all right?…. Well, now, if that’s okay with you?…. Perfect. What’s the address?….”  Burke grabbed the receiver and held it so they both could hear Taylor relay the address.  When he finished, Steve pulled the phone back, glaring at Burke but not letting his anger show in his voice.  “Great, thanks, Marc.  We’ll be there as soon as we can….”  </p><p>He was just about to hang up when he stopped.  “Oh, ah, Marc.  Mike’s not with me today.  He’s, ah, he’s busy working on another case so I’m bringing Bill Tanner with me, okay?  Inspector Tanner…. Yeah….  Yeah, Bill works with us.  He’s a great guy, you’ll like him….  Okay, see you in a bit.”  He hung up and looked at Burke with a shrug.  “Well, I’m gonna have to explain you somehow anyway to get you in the door, so I might as well start now.”</p><p>Burke stared at him expressionlessly then he nodded slightly, gesturing Steve back towards the car.</p><p>Steve closed his eyes briefly as they walked away from the payphone.  He knew Taylor was confused by what he had just said; he only hoped that the young lawyer could figure out what he meant, that it was a cry for help.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0085"><h2>85. Chapter 85</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The LTD slid slowly to the curb on Mason, the only open parking space they could find on the busy North Beach street.  They were still almost a full block away from their destination but unless they wanted to double park, this was the only option.  They had already circled the block twice looking for an empty space.</p><p>It was also a delaying tactic that Steve hoped the increasingly anxious man beside was too preoccupied to notice.  If Marc Taylor had understood what he’d actually been told at the end of their phone call, he would need time to figure out what to do, if anything.  Steve had been surreptitiously looking for cruisers or unmarked cars that he would recognize in the area, knowing that Burke would notice them as well, but he’d seen nothing that aroused hope, or suspicion.</p><p>Burke sighed angrily, his patience waning and his frustration growing.  Steve turned off the engine but didn’t move.  It was more important than ever not to push the highly agitated man beside him too close to the edge until he was sure he was able to take him down.  His ribs were aching, his head was pounding, and his breath kept catching in the back of his throat, both from the pain of trying to breathe around his broken nose and the slowly dawning reality that his partner, his mentor, his best friend, was lying dead on his living room floor.  He squeezed his eyes shut and bit his bottom lip, trying to control the trembling that sudden convulsed his entire body.</p><p>He felt Burke’s loathing-filled eyes on him and he turned his head slightly, trying not to let the unstable sergeant see the tears in his eyes.  Burke opened his door.  “Get out,” he growled, gesturing with the .38 as he backed out the door.  Closing his eyes and exhaling unsteadily, Steve slid across the front seat and climbed onto the sidewalk.  Burke slammed the door then stepped behind his hostage, the gun in his jacket pocket once again and, pressing the concealed barrel into Steve’s back, they started down the street.</p><p>The apartment building was eight storeys high, and they entered the small glass-walled outer lobby and approached the entry panel.  With Burke glaring at him, Steve pushed the intercom button opposite 512.  They could hear the tinny buzz then the click of the line connecting.  </p><p>“Yes?”</p><p>Steve glanced at Burke.  “Yeah, Barry?  This is Steve and Inspector Tanner.”</p><p>“Okay, sure.  Come on up.”  They heard the line go dead then the loud buzz coming from the lock on the lobby door.  Burke reached for it quickly, opening the door as the lock disengaged, then gesturing Steve ahead of him.  The lobby was empty as they walked to the two elevators and pushed the Up button.</p><p>They waited in silence as they watched the numbers in the panels above the elevators doors; the left car arrived first and they stepped aside as three people exited before they got in and Burke pressed the 5 button.  They rode up in silence.  Steve could almost feel his heart beating out of his chest.</p><p>The doors opened with a soft chime and they looked at the small brass plaque on the wall to tell them which way to go.  Steve’s focus narrowed even more as they approached the apartment door and stopped.  After an unmoving second, Burke glared at him and he slowly raised his right hand and knocked.</p><p>The door was opened almost immediately.  Barry King greeted them with a big welcoming smile as he thrust out his right hand, which wavered suddenly when he saw Steve’s battered face.  “Whoa, what happened to you?” he asked with genuine concern as he shook the inspector’s hand, frowning worriedly.</p><p>Steve tried to laugh it off.  “I got jumped buying pizza the other night,” he shrugged with a chuckle, tightening his grip on King’s hand.  There was no change in the young lawyer’s expression and suddenly he felt a tiny sliver of hope.  “I’m okay, really.”</p><p>“Good,” King chuckled, turning his welcoming smile on Burke.  “Hi.  Barry King.  You must be Inspector… Tanner, is it?”</p><p>Flashing a smile under a slightly furrowed brow, Burke nodded as he shook hands with the young man who he had assumed would recognize him from the attack.  Steve could tell that the sergeant was surprised and flustered, and the tiny sliver of hope got a little wider.</p><p>King took a step back.  “Come on in.”  They moved past him into the spacious living room, both of them looking around for Taylor.  </p><p>King shut the door then led them deeper into the room.  “Oh, ah, Marc’s on the phone in the bedroom.  He’s still working on some cases from home and the office just called.  Sorry.”  He shrugged apologetically.  “He shouldn’t be long.  Ah, can I get you guys some coffee?”</p><p>“Sure, that would -“ Steve began.</p><p>“No, thank you,” Burke interrupted with a quick cold smile.  “We won’t be here that long.”</p><p>King shrugged.  “Sure, no problem,” he said then gestured towards the sofa.  “Have a seat.”</p><p>Steve started to move towards the couch, separating himself from Burke, who held his ground.  The sergeant looked at their host.  “Ah, would it be okay if used your bathroom?”</p><p>“Oh, sure,” King nodded, pointing down the short corridor to their left.  “It’s just down there, last door on the right.”</p><p>“Thanks,” Burke grunted as he started across the room.  </p><p>Steve turned quickly to look at King, frowning.  The lawyer’s face was suddenly a mask of fear, his eyes wide and terrified.  Steve nodded once and started to follow Burke.  This was it, he knew, this was his moment.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>Three black-and-whites, lights flashing, quickly but silently converged in front of the Mason Street apartment building.  The doors flew open and six uniformed officers, their guns already in hand, sprinted towards the building.</p><p>Within seconds they had gained access to the lobby.  One of them repeatedly punched the Up button, cursing as they watched the slow approach of both elevators.   Three of them, out of patience, opened the door to stairwell and started up the five floors.  </p><p>There were lives at stake, fellow officers lives, and their time to act was incredibly short.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>Burke moved quietly down the corridor towards the bathroom, listening for the sound of a voice to let him know which closed door was to the bedroom.  He heard it.  Glancing quickly back over his shoulder, not really caring if the unarmed inspector was behind him or not, he threw the door opened and charged quickly into the room, pulling the .38 out of his jacket pocket and training it, two-handed, on Marc Taylor, who was sitting on the queen-size bed with the phone beside him.  He was wearing a bullet-proof vest.</p><p>Burke froze in surprise, his eyes widening.  In that split second of indecision, he vaguely heard the noise of the door starting to close behind him before he felt something cold and metallic slam into the back of his neck just under his skull, and he knew it was a gun.  And as Marc Taylor quickly slid off the bed and out of his sight, a voice he didn’t recognize said quietly in his ear, “You so much as flinch, Sergeant Burke, and they’ll be taking you out of here in a body bag…”</p><p>Neither moved.  Steve appeared quietly in the doorway behind them, staring at the tableau in shock; Inspector Bill Tanner’s .38 was pressed against the back of Burke’s head.  He held his breath.  </p><p>Very slowly, Tanner took his left hand off his gun and took a careful half-step to his right, trying to position himself so he could grab Burke’s right arm if the sergeant decided to resist.  “Don’t move…” he growled, keeping the pressure of the barrel against Burke’s neck.  </p><p>Suddenly there was loud pounding on the apartment door.  “Police!  Open up!”</p><p>Burke took advantage of the startling interruption and spun quickly, throwing his right elbow back and slamming it into the man behind him.  Tanner yelled in surprise the elbow caught him hard in the ribs and he gasped, doubling over slightly as Burke ducked out of the way of the gun against his neck and turned his own gun on his adversary.</p><p>And all hell broke loose.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>Barry King, who had remained in the living room, frozen in fear, barrelled to the door when the pounding started and threw it open.  The uniformed officers, their guns out, charged past him into the room.  “Get out,” one of them yelled as he rushed by.</p><p>“The bedroom!” King yelled, pointing towards the hallway as he escaped into the corridor, where he threw himself against the far wall, closing his eyes, terrified.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>Ignoring the agony radiating from his entire body, Steve launched himself towards Burke, knowing if they didn’t take him down here and now, it was over for all of them.  </p><p>Tanner had managed to recover from the blow from Burke’s elbow and made a grab for the sergeant’s gun hand to keep the barrel away.  As they struggled for control of Burke’s .38, Steve threw himself at Burke, hoping the momentum from his weight would take them all down.  But the sergeant was bigger and stronger and managed to stay on his feet.  </p><p>Dropping his own gun to free up his other hand, Tanner grabbed Burke’s arm and jerked the gun away from Steve and himself; Burke’s finger spasmed on the trigger and the gun went off, the bullet striking the wall just below the ceiling above the bed.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>In the corridor outside the apartment, hearing the shot, Barry King slid to the floor, covering his face with his hands and whimpering in fear and helplessness.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>The pain from his ribs almost blinding in its intensity, Steve reached up and threw his right arm around Burke’s neck, pulling him back and, with Tanner’s help, wrestled Burke down, all three hitting the carpeted floor hard as the two lighter men struggled to keep the bulky sergeant under control.  Burke still had the gun in his hand and in the frenzy he managed to get his arm free and swung the barrel around towards the two homicide inspectors.</p><p>Tanner grabbed Burke’s arm with both hands, bending it at the elbow, and the sergeant’s hand, desperately wrapped around the gun, was suddenly between them.  All three struggled frantically, knowing that one wrong move could prove fatal for any of them.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>The three officers moved carefully down the empty hallway towards the sound of a scuffle coming from the bedroom.  They had just gotten to the door when a second shot rang out.</p><p>The first officer stepped quickly into the room, stepping close to the .38 on the carpet and kicking it out of the way.  There were three men on the floor in what had obviously been an intense struggle but now they were barely moving.  He raced around them to the other side, near their heads, his gun covering all three, as the other two cops crowded into the open doorway, their service revolvers at the ready as well.The pain in his chest was so intense Steve couldn’t move.  He knew the shot hadn’t hit him but he was worried about Tanner; there’d been enough death today…  Burke’s chest was heaving under him, gasping for breath, but the sergeant wasn’t fighting them anymore.  He could feel a wet warmth soaking through his shirt and he knew it was blood, just not his own.</p><p>Steve watched as Tanner started to push himself off of Burke, staring down at the now docile sergeant through worried eyes as he got to his knees.  Hands reached down, taking his colleague’s upper arms and helping him stand. </p><p>Steve’s eyes slid slowly towards Burke, lying flat on his back, staring at the ceiling as blood continued to ooze from a hole in his stomach.  Someone took the gun out of Burke’s unresisting hand and he heard another of the officers yelling for someone to call an ambulance as he felt strong hands wrapping around his own upper arms and carefully helping him to his feet.</p><p>The room spun and he felt the hands holding him tighten their grip.  “Take is easy, Inspector,” he heard a calming voice in his ear, “we’ve got you.  You’re gonna be okay.”</p><p>He felt himself being gently turned to be led from the room.  He stumbled a couple of steps then stopped, turning to Tanner who was still staring down at Burke as if not believing what they had just been through.  He reached out and grabbed his colleague’s arm and the black inspector looked at him.</p><p>Steve’s face crumbled.  Tears sprung to his eyes and he exhaled unsteadily.  “He shot Mike, Bill… Burke shot Mike… I think he’s dead…”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0086"><h2>86. Chapter 86</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tanner looked at him blankly, as if not sure what he’d just heard.  “What?” he whispered.</p><p>Staring into the suddenly terrified brown eyes, Steve nodded, still trying to breathe past the lump in his throat.  “Burke… he shot Mike… twice.  He’s dead, Bill…”  He started to cry, suddenly unable to control the emotions he had been holding in check since he’d been forced out of his apartment at the point of a gun.</p><p>Tanner was staring at him in shock, his mouth open and his eyes unseeing.  Steve felt the cop beside him tighten the grip on his arms, guiding him out into the hallway towards the living room.  There were more uniformed officers entering the apartment and they made way for the obviously injured inspector as he was led away from the bedroom.  </p><p>The cop guided Steve to an armchair and helped him down.  “Just wait here, sir,” he said formally, even though he was close to the inspector’s age.</p><p>Steve nodded somnambulantly, staring down at the carpet, letting the tears course silently down his cheeks as he tried not to think.  He wasn’t sure how long he’d been sitting there before a uniformed officer stepped in front of him and he heard an excited, “Steve, whoa, am I glad to see you…”</p><p>He raised his head slowly; Blake Cummings, a relieved smile on his worried face, was staring down at him and shaking his head happily.  Suddenly Cummings smile disappeared and his eyes widened.  “Oh my god, are you okay?”  He was focused on his friend’s shirt and Steve looked down at the fresh blood.</p><p>He shook his head.  “It’s not mine…”  Cummings exhaled in relief then smiled again.  Steve frowned, the detective in him coming back.  “What are you doing here?  This isn’t your territory… you patrol Central.”</p><p>Cummings’ smile got a little wider.  “Yeah, right, where you live.  But I got a special request to find you, so…?”  He shrugged with a chuckle.</p><p>“A request from who?”</p><p>“Your partner.”  He said it so matter-of-factly it was like a knife in the young man’s heart.</p><p>“Blake, Mike was shot this morning… he’s-“</p><p>“Yeah, I know,” Cummings interrupted with a commiserating smile.  “He’s down in my car.”</p><p>Steve heard the words but they didn’t register.  He stared at Cummings without blinking for several long silent seconds.  “What…?” was all he could get out.</p><p>Cummings almost beamed then reached out, put a gentle hand on his friend’s shoulder and squeezed, his smile wavering.  “He was wearing a vest, Steve.  He’s probably got a few broken ribs but he wouldn’t let us take him to the hospital until we found out what happened to you.”  He raised his eyebrows.  “And I never disobey a lieutenant…”</p><p>Still staring, still not believing what he was hearing, Steve sat without moving, trying to process the incomprehensible.  He’d seen two bullets hit his partner at close range… He’d seen him go down and stop moving…. He thought he’d seen him die…</p><p>He swallowed heavily.  “He’s in your car?”</p><p>Cummings nodded.  “Umh-humh.  And he’s really anxious to see you.”</p><p>Steve snorted, half laugh, half sob, and he reached up.  Cummings took his hand off Steve’s shoulder and grabbed his elbow, helping his classmate to his feet.  Steve swayed and Cummings tightened his grip, then looked over his shoulder at a couple of other uniforms in the room.  “Hey, guys, ah, when the detectives get here, let ‘em know I’m taking Inspector Keller down to my car.  He needs to go to the hospital.  Okay?”</p><p>The others grunted and nodded their assent.  With an encouraging smile, Cummings helped Steve towards the door.  There was a commotion in the corridor and they stepped back rapidly to allow two paramedics with a gurney to enter the large apartment.  “In here!” someone yelled and Steve watched as it rolled past and disappeared down the hallway.</p><p>Steve and Cummings stepped out into the corridor.  Barry King was leaning against the wall opposite his apartment door, looking like a deer caught in headlights.  Steve managed a slight smile.  “You can go back in, Barry.  Marc’s okay.”</p><p>With a strained nod, King pushed himself away from the wall and tentatively stepped towards the open apartment door.</p><p>As they walked slowly towards the elevator, Cummings nodded back over his shoulder.  “Who was that?”</p><p>“The intended target’s boyfriend,” Steve said simply, still in shock but trying, literally and figuratively, to put one foot in front of the other.  He looked at his classmate and smiled slightly.  “How ‘bout I tell you and the other guys all about it over a beer in a couple of weeks?”</p><p>Cummings chuckled.  “Sounds good to me.”  He punched the Down button.  </p><p>The elevator was still on the floor and the doors opened immediately.  The car was empty and Steve stood just inside the doors, anxiously watching as the numbers descended along with the car.  He felt Cummings hand find its way to his shoulder again and another gentle, reassuring squeeze.</p><p>The doors opened on a bustling lobby, more uniformed officers arriving and even a couple of detectives from IA, who waited till Steve and Cummings had left the elevator before charging on.  Cummings stopped briefly to talk to one of the uniformed officers before leading Steve, who was getting more and more unstable on his feet, out the two sets of glass doors onto the sunny street.  </p><p>Cummings’ car was parked on the far side of Mason, beyond the cruisers that had arrived before him.  As they crossed the sidewalk and stepped onto the asphalt, Steve could see the back door of one of the black-and-whites standing open and he knew that was the car they were heading towards.  He tried to increase his pace but he couldn’t, and he growled angrily at his unresponsive body.  They cleared the last of the abandoned squad cars and approached the open back door of Cummings’ car.  </p><p>Hearing the approaching footsteps, wincing with a groan of pain, Mike Stone raised his head from the back of the seat and carefully turned to look.  Bruised, bandaged and in obvious discomfort, but a sight that made his heart soar, Steve Keller was walking slowly towards him.</p><p>Under the supporting hand on his colleague’s shoulder, Cummings felt his friend start to shake and knew he was trying not to cry.  He tightened his grip encouragingly then let go, allowing the injured inspector to cross the last few yards to the car by himself.</p><p>The fedora almost defiantly on his head, Mike, silent tears starting to course down his cheeks, was leaning with painful stiffness against the far end of the back seat. Uncharacteristically, he was wearing only his dress pants and a white t-shirt; his jacket, shirt, vest and tie were in a ball on the seat beside him.  Lying in the well of the back window was a black bulletproof vest.  </p><p>Steve approached the car slowly, stopping at the open door and carefully bending down so he could see in, bracing himself with one hand on the doorframe as he ran the other over his face in a feeble attempt to clear the moisture from his eyes.  His hand lingered over his mouth as he gasped, part sob, part joy.</p><p>Mike’s smile wobbled as he stared at the fresh blood on the younger man’s shirt.  “Are you all right?” he asked breathlessly, his voice trembling.</p><p>Following his partner’s gaze, Steve looked down at his shirt, at the blood he had forgotten, and shook his head.  “It’s not mine,” he said quickly, trying to smile reassuringly.  “It’s not mine.  I’m okay…”</p><p>Mike’s eyes slid up to Steve’s face and he grinned as best he could.  “So am I,” he said quietly then snorted softly and raised his eyebrows with a tiny facial shrug.  “Well, maybe not okay…” he tried to chuckle, wincing, slowly raising his right hand and placing it carefully over the left side of his chest, reluctant to take his eyes from his young friend.  </p><p>Steve stared into the familiar warm blue eyes he never expected to see again.  “I thought you were dead…”</p><p>Mike’s smile disappeared and he nodded almost imperceptibly.  “I thought you might… I’m sorry…”</p><p>Steve smiled and shook his head with a slight chuckle.  “Don’t be sorry.”  He started to get into the car and Mike reached down slowly with his left hand to pick up his clothes to move them out of the way.  He gasped in pain.</p><p>“Don’t,” Steve ordered, half on the seat, leaning over carefully and reaching for the clothes, “I’ll get it.”  He picked them up and, trying to mask his discomfort, stuffed them in the rear window well beside the vest then sat gingerly on the now empty seat beside his partner.  Mike watched his every move, not taking his eyes off his battered partner.</p><p>“You’re okay?” he asked softly.</p><p>Steve smiled.  “About as good as you, I bet….”</p><p>Mike chuckled painfully again.  “Oh, god, poor you…”  His smile vanished.  “What happened to Burke?”</p><p>Steve looked pointedly at the ambulance standing amongst the cruisers.  “He’s still alive,” he said quietly, and Mike knew he would be given the full story later, when they were both in a better place both physically and emotionally.  And there would, thankfully, be that time and place.</p><p>Steve turned as best he could in the seat and stared at the older man, raw emotion on his face.   Mike stared back for several long seconds before he started to smile.  Steve did as well.  Then Mike chuckled painfully.  “I’d hug you but I can’t lift my arm,” he snorted softly and Steve smiled warmly.</p><p>“I can,” he said quietly.  He raised his right arm, slipped it carefully over the older man’s shoulders and pulled him close.  </p><p>Mike gasped, closing his eyes, and Steve released his grip.  Mike exhaled loudly, his breath catching in his throat, then said quietly, “I got shot in the back too, remember…”  With a pain-laced sigh, breathing in short sharp gasps, his body tense, he laid his head against his partner’s shoulder.</p><p>Almost as if by magic, Blake Cummings appeared in the open door, leaning in; Steve looked at him.  “So, ah, can I take you guys to the hospital finally?” he asked with a smile and a warm lilt in his tone.</p><p>Mike, his eyes still closed, nodded slowly.  Steve smiled gratefully.  “Thanks, Blake.”</p><p>The uniformed patrolman pulled his head back sharply and frowned.  “That’s Officer Cummings to you, Inspector,” he said with a laugh and a grin as he closed the door and got in behind the wheel.</p><p>Steve gently leaned his cheek against the head on his shoulder, and kept a protective arm around his partner all the way to San Francisco General.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>Mike was barely conscious by the time the black-and-white came to a gentle stop just outside the doors of the Emergency department.  Cummings bolted from the car and dashed inside and within seconds re-emerged with several hospital personnel, a gurney and a wheelchair.  </p><p>Both back doors of the cruiser were flung open and hands reached into the car, gently pulling Mike away from his partner as a very worried Steve was assisted from the car and carefully settled into the wheelchair.  As it started away, he asked them to wait, his eyes on his injured partner.  </p><p>A young man in a white lab coat knelt on the seat Steve had just vacated and steadied Mike’s limp body as another man reached into the car for his legs.  Then very gently and carefully they began to extricate him from the back seat and, with the assistance of others, laid him on the gurney and began the sprint back into the hospital.  The wheelchair followed.</p><p>Cummings reached into the back of the squad car and gathered up the lieutenant’s clothes, the fedora that had fallen to the seat, and bulletproof vest then trailed the entourage through the hospital doors, following the gurney.</p><p>The partners were separated as they were rushed into examination rooms.</p>
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<a name="section0087"><h2>87. Chapter 87</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Well, you’re looking a little better,” Cummings said as he stepped through the curtains of the emergency department cubicle, his hat in his hand.</p><p>Steve, wearing a hospital gown over his pants, was lying on a gurney; he had been cleaned up, the bloody bandage over his nose replaced with a pristine white one.  He was looking more coherent and in less pain.  “What are you still doing here?  I thought you’d be back out on patrol.”</p><p>“Yeah, you’d think that, hunh?  But the bosses said because I seem to be up to my eyeballs in everything that happened this morning, and that I know you, you know… I should hang around.  Besides, my shift is over soon anyway and my partner is still at the Mason Street apartment.  So…. I guess you’re stuck with me.”  He grinned amiably.</p><p>Steve frowned.  “How’s Mike?  Nobody’s told me anything.”</p><p>“Well, last I heard,” Cummings said calmly, crossing closer to the bed, “he’d been taken for x-rays.  I, ah, I stayed with him when they had their first look at him.  I brought the vest in to show them where the bullets hit him.”  He paused and shrugged apologetically.  “He was still pretty out of it… which isn’t surprising.  Stopping a bullet that close with a vest on is like getting kicked by a mule.”</p><p>“You’ve been kicked by a mule?” Steve asked flatly and it took a long second for Cummings to realize he was being teased.</p><p>“Ha ha.  But, seriously, I did get hit once when I had a vest on, a couple of years ago.  So I know how it feels.  He’ll be really sore for awhile but he’ll be okay, don’t worry.”  He gestured with his chin at the bed.  “So, ah, what about you?”</p><p>“They took me for x-rays too.  Turns out my ribs aren’t broken, which is good news, I guess, but I’ve done more damage to the cartilage along my sternum so it’s going to take longer to heal.  And they’re bringing the plastic surgeon down to have a look at my nose.  They may have to operate on it tonight.”</p><p>Cummings winced.  “Oooohhhh, that doesn’t sound good.”</p><p>“Well, it doesn’t feel good right now either.  Anyway, they told me they’re keeping me in overnight.”</p><p>“That’s not surprising.  They’ll be keeping Mike in tonight, that’s for sure.  Maybe even longer.”</p><p>“Yeah…”  Steve looked up at the ceiling and sighed.  After several seconds he asked softly, “Any word on Burke?”</p><p>“He’s still in surgery.  But from what I heard they think he’s going to make it.”</p><p>Steve nodded, still staring at the ceiling.</p><p>Cummings shuffled uncomfortably.  “Ah, hey, ah, they sent me in here for a reason…. Ah, Captain Cassidy from IA is out there.”  He nodded over his shoulder in the general direction of the waiting room.  “He wants to know if you’re up to talking to him right now.  What should I tell him?”</p><p>Steve turned his head slowly.  “Tell him it’s okay.”</p><p>The young officer smiled.  “Great.”  He turned to leave then stopped.  “Hey, ah, I’ll probably be heading home soon.  But I have tomorrow off so if you’re still here, I’ll come back and see you, if you want… or drive you home if they release you…?”</p><p>The injured inspector nodded with a soft smile.  “Yeah, that’d be great.  And, ah, Blake…”. He swallowed heavily.  “Thanks for looking after Mike today… and me too…”</p><p>Cummings grinned.  “You’re welcome.”  He winked.  “I’ll see you tomorrow.”  He disappeared through the curtains and Steve looked back at the ceiling again.</p><p>A relative silence fell over the small cubicle as he waited for the captain to appear.  Even though he’d been given a couple of Tylenol, the residual ache from his battered ribs was uncomfortable.  He knew he had expended a great deal of adrenaline in the last few hours, most of it in fear and grief, and he was exhausted.  All he wanted to do was shut out the world and sleep but that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon.</p><p>He became aware of another presence in the room and the soft clearing of a throat.  He opened his eyes and looked to his left.  </p><p>Captain Cassidy was standing awkwardly just inside the closed curtains, his hands in his pockets, smiling.  He raised his chin in greeting, taking a couple of steps deeper into the small cubicle.  “You, ah, you look… pretty good,” he stumbled, trying to sound optimistic.</p><p>Steve managed a slight smile.  “That’s good, ‘cause I feel like crap.”</p><p>Cassidy’s face fell, his eyes widening.</p><p>The homicide inspector smiled, taking him off the hook, and Cassidy snorted, shaking his head and grinning.  “You’ve got your partner’s sense of humor.”</p><p>“I’ll take that as a compliment.”</p><p>“That’s how I intended it,” the captain laughed.  “How are you feeling, really?”</p><p>Steve shrugged slightly.  “Well, my ribs aren’t broken, which is a good thing, but they might have to operate on my nose tonight.”</p><p>Like Cummings, Cassidy winced.  “Ouch…”</p><p>“Yeah.  Ah, listen, Captain, do you how Mike’s doing?”</p><p>Cassidy took another step closer to the bed.  “Well, I just talked to his doctor and you don’t have to worry.  He’s doing just fine.  He has two broken ribs, one in his chest and one in his back, but they’re clean breaks and he doesn’t need surgery.  And he’s badly bruised, of course.  He just needs lots of rest and to take it easy for a few weeks.  They’re going to keep him in at least for tonight and then see how he is tomorrow.  But you can relax, he’s gonna be fine.”</p><p>Steve closed his eyes and nodded, exhaling heavily.  Cassidy gave him enough time to digest the good news then said softly, “I, ah, I hear you’ve been through a really rough fews days, thanks to our Sergeant Burke.  You feel up to telling me about it?”</p><p>Steve nodded.  “Where do you need me to start?”</p><p>“Well, ah, Mike told me about your, ah… well, the assault,” he nodded at Steve’s nose, “the other night and that he thought it could’ve been Burke but you didn’t see who it was.”</p><p>“That’s right.  I didn’t see a thing…except stars…”</p><p>Cassidy chuckled dryly.  “Yeah, I bet.  So you spent last night at Mike’s?”</p><p>“Yeah.  He drove me home this morning, and that’s when it all started.”  He told the IA captain about Burke surprising him in his own apartment.</p><p>“How did he get in?”</p><p>Steve shook his head.  “I have no idea.  I guess I’ll find out when I get home, whenever that’s gonna be…”</p><p>“No, you won’t,” Cassidy said firmly and Steve frowned.  “Some of my boys are at your place right now.  I haven’t heard from them yet but I’m sure they’ll figure that out and I’ll let you know.  And we’ll get whatever needs to be repaired, if anything, repaired before you get home.  How does that sound?”</p><p>“Nice… thanks.”</p><p>“You’re welcome.  So what happened after Burke surprised you?”</p><p>“Well, he was trying to drag me out of the apartment when Mike showed up.”  He paused and his stare unfocused.  He shook his head slightly.  “I don’t know why… I don’t know how he knew Burke was there, but he did…”  He paused again, thinking, then he looked at Cassidy.  “He said something about a motorcycle, that Burke was sloppy…”  He shook his head with another slight shrug.  “Sorry, I know there’s a connection there, I just can’t make it right now…”</p><p>Cassidy made a face.  “A motorcycle?  Okay, well, I guess I’ll have to wait until I can ask Mike myself…”</p><p>“Anyway, Mike was trying to talk him down, and I think he was succeeding, and then he said something about the men Burke was attacking being just like him and did he hate himself that much… and Burke just lost it.”  He closed his eyes.  “That’s when he fired the first shot…. Mike couldn’t fire back ‘cause Burke was behind me.  He couldn’t get a clean shot…  He went down… and when he tried to get up, Burke shot him in the back…”  He swallowed heavily then gasped for air.</p><p>Cassidy let the silence lengthen then prompted quietly.  “Burke got you out of the apartment?”</p><p>His eyes remaining closed, Steve nodded.  “He told me if I didn’t cooperate that he wouldn’t only kill me, he’d kill everyone I cared about and everyone in his path…. And I believed him.  I thought he had just killed Mike right before my eyes…”  He took several long deep breaths.  Cassidy waited.</p><p>Eventually Steve opened his eyes.  “Mike’s car was at the curb and he’d left the keys in the ignition so we took it.  He made me drive…. I didn’t have a choice…”</p><p>“Of course not…” Cassidy assured softly.</p><p>Steve nodded.  He told the captain about Taylor and King not being home, about getting the phone number from the neighbour and the call from the payphone in the 7-11 parking lot.  He almost smiled when he spoke about the phone call, about using Inspector Tanner’s name, knowing that Taylor and Tanner were close friends and hoping Taylor would realize what he was being told.</p><p>“He did,” Steve said with an impressed snort.  “He did.  I have no idea why and how Bill was there so quickly… but thank god he was.”</p><p>Cassidy nodded, smiling softly.  “I talked to Bill - he’s here, by the way.  He’s out in the waiting room.  He said he’d like to see you before he leaves.”  He shrugged with a gentle chuckle.  “I guess you and Mike were walking around with horseshoes in your pockets today…”  When Steve frowned in confusion, his smile widened.  “Bill was already there… at Taylor’s.  Something about a sketch artist?  He’d arranged for a sketch artist and they were waiting for her to arrive when Taylor got your call and they knew something was up.  It was Bill that figured it out and… put Taylor in a vest and set that little trap in the bedroom…”  He nodded in appreciation.  “And it worked.”</p><p>“It sure did,” Steve agreed, still surprised how everything had turned out.</p><p>The curtain was flung open and a young doctor, looking down at a clipboard, charged into the cubicle.  “Okay, Mr. Keller, we’re going to -“  He looked up and froze, staring at the large man in the suit standing next to the gurney.  “Oh, ah, sorry…”</p><p>“No problem,” Cassidy chuckled, looking at the physician’s nameplate, “Dr. Thornton.”  With a quick glance at Steve, he flashed a wry smile at the doctor as he gestured towards the bed and took a step away.  “He’s all yours.”  He turned to Steve with a curt nod.  “I’ll finish up with you later.”  He gently patted the young inspector’s leg.  “Take care of yourself, okay?”  With a nod at the doctor, he stepped through the curtains and disappeared.</p><p>Thornton turned back to his patient.  “Ah, yeah, um, sorry about that.  So Dr. Garvey, the plastic surgeon, is not going to be available for a consultation until later this evening at the earliest - he’s in the operating room as we speak for an emergency facial reconstruction… car accident - so we’re going to move you to a room and he’ll see you there when he can.  How does that sound?”</p><p>Steve nodded.  “Sure, okay.”</p><p>The doctor nodded at an orderly who was waiting just outside the curtains with a wheelchair.  They helped get Steve sitting up, off the gurney and into the chair.  As they waited at the elevators, Steve asked, “Um, would you happen to know what room Lieutenant Stone is in?”</p><p>“Is he the cop that came in with you?  The one with the broken ribs?” Thornton asked.</p><p>Steve nodded.  “Yeah, he’s my partner.”</p><p>“Oh,” the doctor smiled.  “Well, I’m pretty sure he’s already in the room I’m taking you to.”</p><p>For the first time in hours, Steve’s smile was genuine.  “Really?”</p><p>“Umh-humh.” </p><p>The elevator doors opened and the wheelchair was pushed inside.  The orderly pushed the floor button as he and the doctor exchanged a smile.  The relief and anticipation emanating from the battered and bruised cop in the chair was obvious to them both.</p><p>“Now I have to warn you,” Thornton said hesitantly, “from what I’ve been told, he’s not going to be very responsive.  They’ve got him pretty well sedated for the next little while so he can get some rest and let his ribs start to heal but he’ll be awake by morning, I would think.”</p><p>The elevator stopped and the doors opened.  They started down the wide and busy corridor.</p><p>“But you need the rest just as much as he does.  And if Dr. Garvey can’t make it tonight, he’ll for sure see you first thing tomorrow morning, so I’d take advantage of that and get a good night’s sleep if I was you.”</p><p>They slowed outside a large wooden door and the doctor held it open as the orderly pushed the wheelchair into the room.  There was an empty bed in the bay near the door; the other one was inhabited.  The hospital bed was partially raised and its occupant, wearing a light blue hospital gown, was staring through heavy-lidded eyes at the doorway with a wide, sloppy smile.</p><p>“Heeeyyyyy…. bbbbuuuddd-dddiiieee bbbboooyyyy….”</p>
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<a name="section0088"><h2>88. Chapter 88</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>From the wheelchair, staring at the occupant of the second hospital bed, Steve turned his head slightly in Thornton’s direction, smiling with unexpected joy.  “Is he, umh…?”</p><p>The doctor, who was staring at Mike as well, nodded slowly.  “Oh yeah…”</p><p>“As a kite, I would say,” the orderly snorted with a low chuckle as he pushed the wheelchair closer to the empty bed.</p><p>“It would appear that way,” Thornton laughed, grinning, as he paralleled the wheelchair to the bed; the orderly set the brake and raised the footpads.</p><p>Unable to contain his relief at seeing his partner conscious and lucid, though obviously under the influence of some very powerful painkillers and wonderfully uninhibited, Steve tore his eyes from his grinning mentor as Thornton and the orderly helped him onto the bed.  “Well, at least he doesn’t seem to be feeling any pain…” he chuckled before gritting his teeth and laying back against the raised bedhead.  Safely down, his head on the pillow, he looked at the other bed again.  Mike was still staring at him, beaming happily but looking like he was about to fall asleep at any second.  </p><p>The orderly released the brake on the wheelchair and, with another look at the amusingly loopy patient in the far bed, pushed the chair out of the room still smiling and chuckling.</p><p>Thornton glanced over his shoulder as he covered his patient with a light blanket.  “No, he certainly doesn’t.”  With a grin, he turned to the second bed and took a step closer.  “Well, Lieutenant, you seem to be feeling a lot better,” he said a little louder than necessary, knowing his voice would have to cut through the fog.  </p><p>Mike’s eyes slid slowly towards the physician’s face and he blinked languidly, trying to focus.  “Hhhey…. Doc…” he finally managed to get out, slurred though it was.  He very slowly raised his right hand and pointed at himself unsteadily with his middle finger.  “Mmmike,” he nodded solemnly.</p><p>Thornton’s smile got a little wider.  “Mike.  Okay, I got it.”  He chuckled warmly as the older man’s head continued to bob.  “You have yourself a good night’s sleep, Mike.”  He turned back to the first bed, smiling at Steve, who was staring at his partner, love and amusement so evident on his bruised and bandaged face.  “You try to have yourself a good night as well.”  He glanced at his watch.  “You know, I have a feeling Dr. Garvey is not going to be paying you a visit tonight… which I would consider a good thing.  I think you need several hours of complete rest without any interruptions.  Wouldn’t you agree?”</p><p>Steve tore his eyes from the other bed and nodded almost absent-mindedly.  “Yeah… yeah, I do…”</p><p>Thornton looked down at him and his smile turned melancholic.  “I heard you two had one hell of a day, hunh?”</p><p>Swallowing heavily, suddenly unsure he could speak past the lump in his throat, Steve closed his eyes briefly and nodded carefully; his dull headache had come back, the consequence of everything he had been through the past few hours.  “You have no idea…” he whispered.</p><p>With a grim smile, Thornton gently patted the young cop’s arm.  And with another quick glance over his shoulder at the other bed, whose occupant was now lying quietly with his eyes closed, he said softly, “Well, you’re both in good hands now.”  Steve opened his eyes and nodded.  The doctor smiled warmly.  “Get some sleep if you can and I’m sure Dr. Garvey will see you tomorrow morning.”  Steve nodded again.  Thornton headed for the door.  He was just opening it when he heard his name called.  He looked back at the bed; the young cop had raised his head, pain lining his features from the effort.</p><p>“Listen, uh, I, ah… one of my colleagues, Bill Tanner, Inspector Tanner…. I know he’s here somewhere.  I have to see him.”  Steve paused, wincing.  He willed himself to slow down.  “Can you find him -?”</p><p>Thornton smiled.  “Sure, I’ll get him,” he said quickly, trying to spare the young cop any more discomfort.  </p><p>Steve let his head drop back onto the pillow as the doctor slipped from the room.  He silently cursed himself, remembering what he had said to Tanner about Burke and Mike and wondering how long the devastated young inspector had believed, as he had, that their lieutenant had been killed.</p><p>He turned his head on the pillow and looked across to the other bed; Mike was still facing him but his eyes were closed.  His chin started to tremble and he bit his bottom lip, fighting back the tears of relief that suddenly sprung to his eyes again.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>The door opened tentatively and Bill Tanner stuck his head into the room, his eyes immediately fixing on Steve staring at him from the nearest bed.  With a smile and relieved exhale, he pushed the door open wider, stepped into the room and approached the bed.  </p><p>He had Mike’s fedora in his hand and held it up like a talisman.  Steve smiled and turned to look at the other bed; Tanner followed his gaze, his eyes widening when he recognized its occupant.  Steve watched as his colleague’s face crumpled momentarily before a smile started to build.  Tanner looked at Steve and exhaled heavily, shaking his head and chuckling; even though he had known for hours that Mike was alive, it was still overwhelming to see him in person.  </p><p>“I’ve never been so happy to be so wrong,” Steve said softly as, nodding in relieved agreement, his colleague stepped closer to the bed.  </p><p>“I’m glad you were wrong too.”  Tanner chuckled, then reached out and set the hat on his friend’s head against the pillow.  They both laughed softly, Steve trying not to wince.</p><p>“It’s too big… in more ways than one, if you know what I mean,” Mike’s partner said with another chuckle.</p><p>“Yeah,” Tanner agreed with a mirthful snort, taking the hat and laying it carefully on Steve’s bedside table.  “I’ll leave it with you anyway.”  He looked at his colleague melancholically.  “So how are you feeling?”</p><p>Steve raised his eyebrows.  “Like crap.  Everything hurts.”</p><p>“Blake told me about your ribs and your nose.  Man, that’s gotta hurt.  But at least they’re giving you something for it, right?”</p><p>“Yeah, it helps.”</p><p>Tanner glanced at the other bed.  “Did you get a chance to talk to him?”</p><p>“Just a little bit in the car before we were brought here.  And he’s pretty doped up right now.”</p><p>“I’m not surprised.  Broken ribs aren’t fun… having been there myself.  Oh, ah, before I forget,” <br/>Tanner said quickly, “Rudy’s here but I don’t think the doctors are going to allow him in to see either of you.  They only let me in because Cassidy said you requested me.”</p><p>Steve nodded.  He was actually glad he didn’t have to face the captain right at the moment.</p><p>“He’ll be back tomorrow morning, I’m sure of that,” Tanner smiled knowingly.  “And the other guys are here too… Dan, Norm, Roy…  Well, everybody really…”  He shrugged slightly.  “They were all worried.”</p><p>Steve smiled wryly and his brows knit.  “What about Burke?”  He was losing steam fast but he wanted to know the fate of the man who had unleashed hell and come so close to killing his partner.</p><p>“Well, he made it through surgery but it’s a gutshot so it’s gonna be a few days until they’re sure he’s out of the woods.”  Steve nodded.  “But I tell ya, Cassidy really wants him alive.  He wants to be the one to send him away for a long, long time.”  Tanner snorted softly to himself.  “And to be perfectly honest, Steve, I’m glad it’s their problem now and not ours.”</p><p>“What did Cassidy say about the shooting?” Steve asked, his eyes half-closed, struggling to stay awake.</p><p>Tanner frowned, worried about his friend.  “He said not to worry about it….  Listen, Steve, I’m gonna get out of here and let you get some sleep.”  He reached out and, almost hesitantly, laid his hand very gently on the injured man’s chest as Steve, nodding slowly, closed his eyes.</p><p>Tanner watched him silently for several long seconds, reliving those adrenaline-filled moments in the apartment bedroom wrestling with Burke for the gun, then the stunning news, thankfully erroneous, that the lieutenant had been killed earlier that morning.  Tanner felt his eyes filling up and he blinked quickly as he turned his head to look at the man in the other bed.  He took a deep breath and smiled to himself, looking back at Steve.</p><p>“Sleep well,” he whispered as he lifted his hand from his friend’s chest and, with one more glance back at the sleeping lieutenant, left the room.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>It was the ache in his chest that woke him and he slowly became aware that his upper chest was wrapped in what he could only assume was a wide tensor bandage.  It wasn’t tight but it was firm enough to offer some much needed support.  The pain was most intense on the left side of his chest and the middle of his back, as if a bullet had passed through his body; but he knew that hadn’t happened.</p><p>As he tried to open his eyes, images flashed through is mind of a .38 turning towards him and a trigger being pulled, and the floodgates opened.  He remembered it all.  His eyes fluttered open and he stared at the ceiling.  The overhead lights were on and the room was bright.  </p><p>He took careful shallow breaths, raising his right hand slowly to rest it on the bandage over his aching chest.  He turned his head to look at the bed beside him; it wasn’t there.  He frowned.  The memory was vague but he was sure he remembered seeing Steve before drifting off the night before.</p><p>From past experience, he knew there would be a call button somewhere near his right hip and he took his hand off his chest to feel around for it.  He had just touched the cord when the door opened and a white-coated middle-aged man with a clipboard walked into the room and straight to the bed.</p><p>“Good morning, Lieutenant,” the doctor smiled, putting the clipboard on the bedside table and taking a stethoscope out of his pocket.  “I’m Doctor Graham.  I’ll be looking after you during your stay with us.”</p><p>Mike tried to smile but it was cut short by a wince.</p><p>Graham frowned.  “A lot of pain this morning?”  The injured man closed his eyes and nodded.  “I’ll get you something for that.  Just let me have a quick listen to your lungs.”  He stuck the tips of the stethoscope in his ears, pulled the top of the gown down to expose his patient’s chest and gently placed the diaphragm against his skin just below the bandage.  He waited while Mike took a breath then moved it.  After listening at several different locations, he nodded approvingly then pulled the gown back up, removed the tips his ears and stuffed the stethoscope back in his pocket.  “Everything sounds good, Lieutenant,” he said with a smile.</p><p>“Mike…. Call me Mike…”  It was barely above a whisper but the words were clear.</p><p>Graham nodded.  “All right, Mike.  You take it easy and I’ll send someone in with some painkillers for you right away.”  He started to turn away.</p><p>“Doc…”</p><p>Graham turned back, his brows raised.  </p><p>Mike was staring at him, then the blue eyes slid slowly towards the empty bay on his left.  “My partner…?”</p><p>Graham frowned slightly.  “Do you mean the young man in the other bed?”</p><p>Mike nodded.</p><p>“Oh, I believe he’s been taken to surgery to have his nose repaired.  He’ll be back shortly, I would think.”  He smiled reassuringly.</p><p>The injured cop managed a relieved smile of his own. “Thanks…”  As the doctor turned away again, Mike stopped him once more.  Graham took a step back towards the bed.  “Sorry but… I’m really hungry…”</p><p>The doctor frowned.  “When was the last time you ate, can you remember?”</p><p>Mike’s eyebrows rose slightly.  “I’m not sure…. I think maybe it was breakfast yesterday…”</p><p>“Good lord,” Graham snorted, surprised.  He patted the lieutenant’s arm.  “I bet you’re hungry.”  He smiled.  “I’ll make sure to get something sent up that you can handle, okay?”</p><p>Mike nodded gratefully.  “Thanks…”</p><p>With another nod, Graham left the room. Mike stared at the ceiling, trying to deal with the pain, then turned his head again to look at the empty space where his partner’s bed should be.  He closed his eyes, trying to stop the moisture that was building up behind his eyelids.</p><p>There had been too much suffering lately…</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0089"><h2>89. Chapter 89</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He drifted to consciousness very slowly, keeping his eyes closed, reluctant to move.  They had raised the bed to allow him to eat the yogurt and chocolate milk that had been sent up from the cafeteria, things that were easy to consume without much effort.  It had also been determined the pain was more tolerable if he was lying completely flat, without a pillow but with his legs slightly bent.  A nurse had rolled one of the flannelette blankets into the shape of a bolster and slipped it under his knees.  The bed had been lowered after he finished eating and he’d fallen asleep almost immediately.</p><p>He wasn’t sure how long he’d been out, but when he did allow his eyes to slowly open he noticed the sun had shifted and was no longer streaming through the window.  He took a tentative deep breath, stifling a gasp when the pain in his back made itself known once again.  He sighed and closed his eyes in frustration; he knew recovery this time was going to take longer than he’d hoped.</p><p>He breathed shallowly until the pain subsided and slowly opened his eyes.  He was staring at the ceiling when he suddenly remembered and turned his head carefully towards the other bay, looking through the raised sidebars.  The second bed was back.  It was raised up high enough so he could see his partner’s face.  </p><p>His head against a thin pillow, Steve’s eyes were closed; a large bandage covered his nose, a thick strip of folded gauze taped across his upper lip.  His mouth was open and he was breathing deeply; he seemed to be sound asleep.</p><p>Mike smiled sadly, continuing to stare.  He sighed involuntarily and winced from the effort.  He felt guilty about what had happened to his partner.  Tanner had come to him with the Burke problem and he had roped his partner in without a second thought; Steve had waded into the middle of the risky situation without hesitation or question.  And he had almost gotten the young man killed.</p><p>He felt the emotions well up suddenly and tears spring to his eyes.  He knew the painkillers he was on sometimes resulted in the lowering of inhibitions, and the sooner he could get off of them the better, he knew.  He looked back at the ceiling again and closed his eyes.  He was exhausted both physically and mentally.  Sleep returned very quickly.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>He became aware of the voices, soft and indistinct, before the pain in the centre of his face demanded his attention.  He couldn’t breathe through his nose and his mouth was dry.  He tried to lick his lips and heard the level of the voices rise.</p><p>He had no desire to talk to anybody so he kept his eyes closed and let his mouth fall open, breathing deeply and evenly in the hopes it looked like he was still asleep.  The voices became quieter again.</p><p>He wasn’t sure how much time passed before he heard the door open and close and silence filled the room.  He waited several seconds before he tempted fate and opened his eyes very slowly.  Save for the bed beside him, the room was empty.</p><p>Bracing himself for the discomfort, he turned his head carefully to the right to look at the other bed.  Mike was lying flat and he could barely see his profile through the raised sidebars, but he could tell the older man was sound asleep.  He could see the slow rise and fall of his partner’s chest and watched it hypnotically for several long seconds.</p><p>He closed his mouth and swallowed heavily, reliving the long horrific hours he had spent believing he had watched this beloved man die before his eyes while he could do nothing to stop it.</p><p>He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to stop the tears he knew were coming, knowing one of the things he wasn’t supposed to do in these first few hours after surgery was cry.  He quickly turned his head away from the other bed, staring at the door, and he thought back to last night, to the wonderfully comic, unexpected and deeply relieving sight of his partner totally and playfully wasted.</p><p>Smiling to himself, he shifted on the bed and caught his breath, the tears to his rib cartilage making themselves known again.  He closed his eyes, inhaling through gritted teeth.  It was almost a minute before the ache dulled enough so he could relax and he exhaled loudly and carefully, turning his head to look at the other bed again, hoping he hadn’t woken the only other person in the room.  Mike hadn’t moved.</p><p>Relieved, he closed his eyes and allowed his entire body to melt into the bed.  He was hungry and would sell his soul for a cup of coffee right now, but his lethargy and physical discomfort were winning the battle for his attention.  </p><p>He took as deep a breath as he could, and he smiled.  Mike was in the bed beside him, and nothing could be better than that at the moment.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>Soft whispers and the rustle of clothing brought him out of the light sleep he had spent the last few minutes floating around in, reluctant to open his eyes to his new reality.  It didn’t hurt when he was asleep.</p><p>His lids fluttered open and he frowned slightly; the sun was no longer lighting up the window.  It was either raining or evening, he decided.  He couldn’t hear the patter of raindrops on the glass or the crack of thunder so it must be near sundown.  The entire day had gone by without him.</p><p>The sound of voices drifted towards him again and he turned his head carefully to look in their direction.  There was a man in orderly’s whites standing between him and a clear view of his partner but he could make out the low murmur of Steve’s voice and he smiled.  The orderly moved towards the door and he could see his bandaged young friend slowly raising a spoon to his mouth from a white bowl on the overbed table.  </p><p>As the door closed behind the orderly, Mike waited until Steve had put the spoon back into the bowl before saying softly, “Is it good?”</p><p>Steve’s hand jumped slightly, the soup dropping back into the bowl, then he raised his head, looking straight forward before turning with just enough deliberation to make the older man chuckle despite the pain.  Trying to contain his smile, Steve slowly raised the eyebrows above his black eyes and bandaged nose.  “Actually, it’s great,” he said thickly, “for hospital food.”  He took another spoonful.</p><p>Mike’s smile got a little wider.  He was relieved to see his young friend doing better.  He hadn’t looked so good the last time he remembered seeing him… whenever that was.  “How are you feeling?”</p><p>Swallowing, Steve tilted his head slightly with a slight smile.  “Not bad, considering…”  He took another spoonful of soup, knowing his partner was watching his every move.  “You hungry?”</p><p>Mike frowned slightly.  “Yeah, I think so.  I had some yogurt and milk before… but I have no idea when that was.  I know the sun was out…”  He tried to chuckle again but it was too painful.</p><p>Steve watched him with a frown.  “Are you okay?”</p><p>Mike nodded quickly.  “Yeah… just hurts when I laugh,” he grinned.  </p><p>“How do you feel?”  The soup forgotten for the moment, the younger man was staring at his partner worriedly.  </p><p>Mike raised his eyebrows.  “Not bad, I guess…. It doesn’t hurt so much when I lay flat like this…”</p><p>Steve’s brow furrowed even more, concerned, but he tried to make light of the situation.  “You’re gonna have trouble eating in that position, you know.”</p><p>The older man snorted softly.  “Haven’t lost your powers of observation, I see…”</p><p>Despite everything, Steve grinned.  Their eyes locked and they stared at each other for a silent second, and in that long beat they both knew they were going to be all right.  </p><p>They broke the look together, Steve’s attention returning to his soup, Mike staring up at the ceiling.  But the smiles lingered.</p><p>After several silent seconds, Mike’s bedhead began to rise; he had found the controller.  He was holding his breath as he rose into a partial sitting position, lifting his finger from the button when he felt comfortable.  He exhaled carefully, surprised when he felt better than he thought he would.</p><p>“You okay?” Steve asked, looking across.</p><p>Mike nodded.  “Yeah… it’s not too bad.”  He found the call button and pressed it, then looked at the younger man again.  “I guess they’re keeping you in overnight again too, hunh?”</p><p>Finishing the soup, Steve nodded.  “Yeah, they said at least till tomorrow, maybe the day after.  You?”</p><p>Mike shrugged carefully.  “I have no idea. I think I’ve been asleep most of the day.”  He frowned.  “Hey, ah, did you hear voices in here earlier?  Like, ah, I don’t know, a couple of hours ago.  I’m not sure of the time…”</p><p>Steve picked up the napkin to wipe his chin, trying not to smile.  “Yeah, I did.  I’m pretty sure it was Roy and Rudy.  But I didn’t feel like talking to them so I kept my eyes shut and pretended I was still sleeping.”</p><p>The lieutenant’s eyebrows knit slowly and a dark cloud of concern descended over his features.  Steve braced himself for a verbal reprimand but suddenly Mike smiled.  “So did I…” he chuckled then winced, his right hand coming up quickly to grab his chest even as he continued to smile.</p><p>Steve watched him with his own wry smile, shaking his head in disbelief.  “We’re going to hell, you know that, right?” he laughed softly.</p><p>“Well, we’ll be in good company.”</p><p>The door opened and a nurse entered the room, glancing between them with a big smile.  “Well, good to see you both awake.  Which one of you paged me?”</p><p>Both of them smiled; Mike raised his eyebrows and his right hand.  “That would be me.”  </p><p>With a chuckle, she stepped closer to his bed.  “Are you feeling okay, Lieutenant?”</p><p>“I feel pretty good,” he said with as much joviality as he could muster, “and it’s not Lieutenant, it’s -“</p><p>“Mike,” she finished for him with a grin and a nod.  “I saw it on your chart.  We’re to call you Mike.”</p><p>He nodded with a soft chuckle.  “Thank you.”</p><p>She laughed gently.  “You’re welcome.  Now what can I do for you, Mike?”</p><p>Mike frowned slightly.  “It might be too late, but would it be possible for me to get something to eat?  I’m a little hungry.”</p><p>Her face lit up.  “Of course it is.  What do you feel like?”</p><p>Mike looked at the other bed.  “Well, Steve here just had a bowl of soup that smelled really good…”</p><p>“It was good,” the younger man chimed in with an affirming nod.  “Vegetable.”</p><p>She looked from one to the other and nodded.  “Then vegetable soup it is.  I’ll send one of our volunteers down to get it.”  She turned to go then looked back at both of them.  “Anything else… for either of you?”</p><p>“Crackers?” Mike asked brightly, sounding like an excited little boy, and she chuckled as she nodded before turning her eyes towards Steve.</p><p>He smiled warmly, buoyed by the pure relief that his partner was slowly returning to his old self right before his eyes.  He swallowed and cleared his throat.  “Ah, would it be possible to get another cup of coffee?  I usually have more than one a day and I think I’m going into withdrawal…”  He smiled charmingly with a helpless shrug.</p><p>She grinned at the handsome young man with the battered face and the obviously close relationship to the man in the other bed.  “Oh, I think I can arrange that.”  She turned to Mike.  “How about you?”</p><p>Mike’s smile wavered.  “Do they happen to have -?“</p><p>“No, they don’t,” Steve interrupted, throwing an amused glance at his partner.  “Live with it.”  He looked at the nurse and smiled apologetically.</p><p>Confused, she frowned as her eyes slid back and forth between the partners, not in on the joke but appreciating the lighthearted give-and-take.  “So… would you like a coffee as well, Mike?”</p><p>Glaring at the younger man, looking put-upon, the lieutenant’s face brightened into a smile as his eyes returned to the nurse.  “Thank you very much, yes, I would like a coffee.”</p><p>Laughing, she headed to the door, glancing back with a wide smile as she pulled the door open and exited.  They both watched her go, then looked at each other.  And smiled.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0090"><h2>90. Chapter 90</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“How are you doing over there?” Steve asked nasally as he looked across at the second bed.</p><p>Mike, who was lying flat with his eyes closed, took a shallow breath before he said quietly, “Not too bad… a little better.”  </p><p>The doctor has just left, after putting his patient through one of the breathing exercises necessary to prevent any lung complications.  It was a very painful, though necessary, procedure and Steve could hear the discomfort his partner was experiencing.  It was disturbing to listen to, and he given the older man some time to recover before he asked the question.</p><p>Nodding softly to himself, Steve let his head sink a little deeper into the pillow.  His nose was feeling a lot better today and even the pain in his chest was starting to be manageable.  He closed his eyes, trying to stop his mind from reeling.  He had so many questions he wanted to ask his partner but he knew this was not the time.  They still had a lot of healing to do.</p><p>He was drifting in and out of a light doze when he heard the door open slowly.  He knew immediately it wasn’t hospital personnel; they always entered without hesitation.  Bracing himself, he opened his eyes a slit, trying to see who it was without being obvious, ready to feign sleep once more if necessary.</p><p>Captain Olsen was standing just inside the door, frowning, as he looked from one bed to the other.  After a beat, Steve exhaled loudly through his open mouth then opened his eyes.  Olsen was looking at the other bed and didn’t notice immediately.</p><p>“Hi, Rudy,” Steve said quietly and the older man jumped slightly, his head spinning towards the voice.</p><p>“Oh, ah, Steve… you’re awake…”</p><p>Raising his eyebrows, the younger man nodded.</p><p>Olsen moved closer to the bed.  He gestured vaguely toward the bandage covering the inspector’s nose.  “How, ah… how are you feeling?”</p><p>Steve bobbled his head slightly.  “Not bad… it’s getting better… slowly…”</p><p>“Is, ah… is it just your face?”</p><p>Steve lifted his right hand and lightly touched his chest.  “I have torn rib cartilage too.”</p><p>“So…” Olsen shrugged with a wry grin, “you’re a mess, basically…?”</p><p>The younger man smiled.  “Yeah… basically…”</p><p>“So am I…” came a soft voice from the other bed and they both looked in that direction as Mike slowly raised the bedhead until he could see them easily and he felt comfortable.  “Rudy…” he acknowledged quietly with a slight nod.</p><p>With a relieved smile, Olsen took a couple of steps towards the second bed so he was halfway between them.  He could see lines of pain on the lieutenant’s face and that worried him, but the fact they were both conscious and talking was going a long way in assuaging his jangled nerves.  It had been a very anxious and disturbing two days for the entire police department.</p><p>“How are you feeling, Mike?”</p><p>The lieutenant smiled reassuringly; he could see the concern in his old friend’s eyes and had a pretty good idea what the captain had been going through since the entire Burke incident had taken the explosive turn that it did.  “Not too bad.  Slow but sure.”</p><p>“Well, that’s good…”  Olsen glanced back at Steve and smiled wryly.  “I, ah, I really hope this isn’t going to become a regular thing… you know, the two of you sharing a hospital room…?”  His eyes snapped back and forth between them, waiting for a response.</p><p>After a long silent beat, they both chuckled, aware he was joking but also realizing there was a kernel of truth in his seemingly flippant statement.  They glanced at each other and smiled warmly.  Mike looked back at the boss, tilting his head towards his partner.  “I don’t know about him but I’m really hoping this is the last time… for this year, at least.”</p><p>“I agree,” Steve laughed gently.</p><p>Olsen grinned, shaking his head.  “Ah, listen, I just talked to your doctors, both of them, and you,” he looked at Steve, “they’re gonna let you out later today… probably early this evening.”  Before the younger man could react to this surprising news, he turned to Mike.  “You are going to be staying put for a few more days.  They want to get you on your feet and walking around before they feel comfortable letting you go home and that’s not gonna happen until at least tomorrow.  So you’re staying.”</p><p>Steve had been glancing back and forth between his partner and the captain.  “Rudy, they’re not gonna let me go home alone…?”</p><p>“Did I say you were going home alone?” Olsen growled good-naturedly as he reached into his jacket pocket and took out a small piece of folded paper.  “Here,” he said, stepping closer to Steve’s bed and handing him the note. </p><p>Both older men watched at he unfolded and read it.  He smiled and looked across at Mike.  “It’s from Blake Cummings.  He’s gonna come by and pick me up and stay overnight with me at my place, and then he and Bob and Carl are going to take turns until you get released.”</p><p>Olsen chuckled; Mike was smiling warmly.  Steve looked at Olsen.  “Is he here right now?”</p><p>The captain shook his head.  “No, ah, he was earlier but he had to leave so that’s why he left the note.  He said something about having to get some groceries and talk to the other guys or something like that.  Anyway he’ll be back later to pick you up, he said.”</p><p>Steve looked across at the other bed, his smile wavering.  “You’ll be okay here all by yourself?”  He looked worried but his partner could see the twinkle in his eyes.</p><p>Mike glared at him from under knitted brows with a wry, long-suffering smile.  “I think I’ll manage, thanks,” he muttered dryly then chuckled with a smile.  “Hey, who knows?  Maybe that bed’ll be occupied by a lovely young woman -“</p><p>“Who’ll think of you as her father,” Steve finished with a chuckle.</p><p>Mike looked at Olsen with a facial shrug.  “He’s probably right.”  They all laughed.  Mike focused on the captain.  “Listen, ah, Rudy, any news about Burke?  We haven’t heard anything.”</p><p>Olsen’s smile disappeared.  “He’s still in Intensive Care.  But they’re pretty sure he’s going to make it.”  He looked from Mike to Steve and shrugged almost apologetically.  </p><p>Mike’s gaze unfocused as he stared down at the blanket over his legs.  Olsen looked at Steve, frowning; the younger man raised his eyebrows and shrugged.  Olsen took a few steps closer to the second bed.</p><p>“How do you feel about that?” he asked softly.</p><p>The lieutenant chuckled softly as he raised his head, glancing guiltily from the captain to his partner and back.  ‘Well… the bastard shot me twice… once in the back…”  He snorted mirthlessly.  “So to be perfectly honest… I’m not really sure how I feel, Rudy…”</p><p>The captain nodded slowly.  “Well, thank god you put that vest on, that’s all I can say.”  He reached out and patted his friend’s leg, continuing to nod.</p><p>“Yeah…” Mike agreed softly.</p><p>Olsen turned to Steve.  “How about you?  How do you feel about Burke?”</p><p>Steve could feel the two pairs of eyes on him as he stared somewhere into the middle distance.  He shook his head slightly.  “Like Mike, I guess… I don’t know how I feel.  I’ve been trying not to think about it…”</p><p>Olsen nodded slowly.  “I can understand that…” he said under his breath.  He looked back at Mike.  “Well, ah, it’s not our case anymore, whichever way it goes, so I think we can all be thankful for that.  But if he survives and this thing goes to court, you’re both going to have to testify, you know that, right?”</p><p>They both nodded soberly.</p><p>“Okay,” Olsen said sharply, putting paid to that part of the conversation.  He looked at Mike.  “Say, ah, have you had a chance to tell Jeannie about this?  You want me to give her a call?”</p><p>Mike was furiously shaking his head, trying not to wince.  “No!  No no no.  She’s already mad at me for not telling her about the Websters a couple of months ago.”</p><p>“What?  You don’t think she’s gonna find out about this?” Olsen shot back.</p><p>“She only found out about the Websters because she saw the scar; I didn’t tell her.  There’s no scar this time, just bruises.  And they’ll go away.”  He looked at Steve as if for back-up but all he got in return was a blank look under skeptically raised eyebrows.  Growling, he looked back at Olsen.  “Besides, she just started the new semester and I don’t want her coming home just for this.”</p><p>“Okay,” the captain said slowly.  “I just asked…”  He looked at Steve with a frown and the young man smiled knowingly.  He turned back to Mike, chuckling.  “Say, ah, Cassidy wants everything you’ve got on Burke so he can start making his case…”</p><p>“It’s all on my desk… I think,” Mike told him, shaking his head slightly.  “I don’t remember where everything is right now, but he’s welcome to it all.  There’s still a bunch of stuff we didn’t have time to follow up on, like those rescinded complaints.  Burke was shaking them down, right?” Mike said matter-of-factly.</p><p>Olsen frowned.  “What?”</p><p>Mike looked at him blankly for a long second then he smiled and chuckled softly.  “Oh yeah,” he began, almost to himself, “none of that’s written down anywhere… ‘cause I only put it together when I was trying to talk Burke into standing down when he…”  He looked at his partner and swallowed heavily.  “when he had Steve…”  The younger man looked at him with an encouraging smile.  “Burke had a lot of complaints filed against him that were rescinded.  I think it was because he was targeting men who were gay and desperate to keep that aspect of their lives a secret… and were willing to pay him a great deal of money to make sure it stayed a secret.”</p><p>Olsen was frowning deeply.  “Extortion?”</p><p>Mike nodded, closing his eyes.  He slowly raised his right hand and put it against the left side of his chest.  </p><p>Olsen looked at Steve worriedly; the younger man was frowning too.  He took a step closer to the bed again and laid a hand on Mike’s leg.  “Listen, ah, I’ll let you guys get some rest.  And I’ll tell Cassidy about the extortion angle, don’t worry.  He can follow up on all that.”</p><p>Mike nodded but didn’t open his eyes, his hand still against his chest.</p><p>Olsen stepped away from the bed and looked at Steve.  “And you… you take care of yourself until he gets out and then you two can take care of each other,” he grinned and the younger man smiled and nodded.  He walked to door and looked back at Mike, who hadn’t moved.  His worried eyes sought out Steve’s once more and the inspector smiled reassuringly and nodded.  </p><p>“He’ll be okay,” Steve mouthed and watched as, with a worried nod, Olsen left the room.  He looked towards the other bed, letting the silence lengthen.  Eventually he said softly, “You okay?”</p><p>Keeping his eyes closed and his head on the pillow, Mike nodded.  “Yeah…” he said softly.</p><p>“Are you okay to talk for a bit?”</p><p>“Sure…”</p><p>“When you were talking to Burke, you mentioned a motorcycle…. What was that all about?”</p><p>Mike smiled but didn’t open his eyes.  “Remember I told you he owned a Harley, red-and-white?”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“I saw it.  It was on that short street near your place, just around the corner off Montgomery…”</p><p>“Montague Place?”<br/>Mike nodded.  “I saw the tail as I drove by…”</p><p>“The tail?”</p><p>“Yeah… he’d parked it between a car and a pick-up, straight into the curb.”</p><p>“And you saw it?”</p><p>Mike nodded again.</p><p>“What made you look?”</p><p>The older man shook his head against the pillow a couple of times.  “I don’t know.  Habit…?  Instinct…?  Luck…?  Maybe it was karma… like the kids say…”  He chuckled softly, his eyes still closed.</p><p>Steve snorted softly, stunned that something so capricious was one of the reasons he was still alive.  His eyes drifted to his bedside table, and the fedora still sitting there.  He swallowed heavily.  When he looked at the other bed again, Mike was staring at him with a soft smile.</p><p>“Despite everything, I’m really glad I saw it,” the older man said quietly.</p><p>A lump forming in the back of his throat and his eyes brightening, Steve nodded.  “So am I.”</p>
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<a name="section0091"><h2>91. Chapter 91</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The key turned in the lock and tumblers clicked over.  Blake Cummings, a large paper bag in one hand, stepped over the threshold and moved deeper into the living, leaving the door open.  Several long seconds later, Steve slowly walked into his apartment for the first time since he had been forced out at the point of a gun.  </p><p>Cummings had left the paper bag on the steps to the second floor and disappeared into the kitchen.  He reappeared with a big smile.  “I just put the coffeemaker on.”  He nodded towards the living room.  There was a blanket and three pillows stacked on one end of the couch.  “Why don’t you sit down and I’ll make us something to eat.”</p><p>They had left the hospital just as dinner was being served, and Steve was happy to have made his escape in the nick of time.  In the car, Cummings had told him he had ‘staked out’ the fridge and bought some groceries to ‘fill in the gaps’ for the next few days.  He had also been told that Cummings was going to make his ‘special’ hamburgers for their dinner, a prospect that Steve thought sounded just about perfect.</p><p>“Oh,” Cummings said with a chuckle as he turned on the TV, “unfortunately there’s no ballgame on tonight, but there is that great CBS Saturday night line-up.”  He beamed at his friend as he turned the knob to a local news broadcast.  “But for now, there’s news and sports.”</p><p>Chuckling as well, Steve lowered himself carefully into the armchair.  Even with the painkillers, his chest was aching slightly.  He exhaled loudly as he sat, grateful that his nose was actually starting to feel better.  </p><p>He wasn’t really paying attention to the TV, his mind elsewhere.  He could hear his classmate bustling about in the kitchen, the sizzle of the burgers.  He was sure that the odours that were wafting into the living room were mouth-watering; he could just about smell them through his still-packed nose.</p><p>At one point Cummings delivered a cup of coffee and placed it quietly on the coffee table.  Steve’s eyes were closed and the young patrolman didn’t want to disturb him if he was asleep.  He eventually returned to the living room and touched his injured friend’s arm.  Steve jerked awake, startled, then smiled, embarrassed, and chuckled slightly, his right hand going almost automatically to his chest.</p><p>Cummings smiled.  “Dinner’s served,” he announced with a grin and, with a hand on Steve’s elbow, gently helped him up.  “And you can have a look at your new door.”</p><p>Burke had broken into the apartment through the back door, having gained access to the deck from the alley at the rear of the building.  He had reefed the entire doorknob off with a large wrench, which he had left behind, leaving an irreparable hole in the thick wooden door.  IA had replaced the door with a fancy metal one that would be a lot harder, if not impossible, to breach.  Steve was pleased.</p><p>The hamburgers, topped with freshly fried onions, were a huge success.  Steve ate small bites so as not to anger ‘the nose gods’, as he called them, and managed to eat the entire thing, much to his friend’s delight.</p><p>“You were hungry…”</p><p>Steve nodded as he swallowed the last bite then opened his mouth quickly so he could breathe again.  “Yeah, I really was.”  He rolled his eyes.  “Hospital food, you know…”</p><p>“Oh yeah, I do.  Listen, you go back into the living room and I’ll clean up here and then I’ll join you.  Want another cup of coffee?”</p><p>As he slowly got up, Steve nodded.  “If I can’t have a beer, I’ll have another cup of coffee.”  He turned towards the other room then stopped and looked back, snapping his fingers.  “Which reminds me.  I’m gonna need you to run a small errand for me tomorrow.  Do you mind?”</p><p>“As long as it’s in the morning.  I work the evening shift tomorrow.  Carl’s coming to spell me here.”</p><p>“Morning will be perfect.  Thanks.”</p><p>“No problem.”</p><p># # # # #</p><p>Cummings turned off the light in the kitchen and wandered, a coffee cup in hand, into the living room.  Steve was back in the armchair, an empty cup on the table in front of him.  The TV was on but the sound was low and he could barely make out the voices of Archie and Edith and the sound of laughter.</p><p>Steve’s eyes were open but he wasn’t looking at the TV; he was staring at a spot on the living room floor just in front of the kitchen entrance.</p><p>With a poignant sigh, Cummings lowered himself onto the sofa, taking a sip of his coffee then cradling the cup in both hands in his lap.  He looked at his silent friend sideways, waiting.</p><p>Eventually Steve’s head moved slightly and he asked quietly.  “Where was he when you got here?”</p><p>Cummings sighed heavily, his eyes shifting to his cup.  He knew this question would be coming.  “We were the first car here.  Luckily you left the front door unlocked so we didn’t have to break it down.  We didn’t know what to expect.”  He swallowed.  “He was still on the floor but he was coming around.  He was in a lot of pain.  Jack… my partner, we, ah, we secured the house then I went to help Mike and Jack started to call for an ambulance but Mike told him to stop.”  He snorted softly.  “Jack stopped for a second.  I mean, we were both looking at Mike and he was in so much pain and we weren’t sure how badly hurt he was.  I mean, there was no blood but…”  He shrugged helplessly.</p><p>He could feel Steve’s eyes on him and knew he couldn’t leave anything out.</p><p>“Jack started to request an ambulance again but Mike said no and that it was an order.”  He glanced up at the young inspector and smiled slightly.  “Anyway, ah, we got him sitting up and we took off his jacket and that knit vest he wears, and his shirt, to get to the other vest… the one that saved his life.  It was obvious where he was hit.  There was one buried on the left side of the chest and another in the middle of the back.  Either one could’ve killed him…”  He looked up into the other man’s eyes.  “You didn’t know he was wearing a vest?”</p><p>Staring into space, Steve shook his head slowly.</p><p>Cummings inhaled deeply.  “He, ah, he wanted to know if we knew where Burke was taking you, and I told him we didn’t.  He ordered Jack to get on the radio and find out and then he asked me help him out to our car.”  He snorted softly again.  “I told him I thought we should go the hospital and he told me he would after he found you.”  He ran a hand over his mouth, a gentle smile emerging.  “That’s exactly how he put it, ‘after he found you.’  He had no doubt…”</p><p>His smile disappeared.  “It took a long time to get him to the car… he was in so much pain and he could barely breathe.  But he was determined.”  He paused, shaking his head in wonder.  “I’ve never seen anything like it.”  He paused again.  “Anyway, ah, Jack had found out about what was going on at the apartment and I rode in the back with Mike and we booked it over there.  Well, a little slower than normal.  Jack didn’t want to drive too fast, especially over the tracks, but we had the lights and siren on.”  He looked up at Steve and smiled slightly.  “And, ah, well, the rest you know…”</p><p>Steve, who was still staring at the spot on the floor where his partner had fallen, was nodding slowly.  “Thanks…” he said softly.</p><p>They sat in silence for a long time.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>Cummings looked across the front seat as Steve opened the door.  “Don’t forget to give Carl a call about a half-hour before you want to leave so he can pick you up.  And remember, he’s not as good as cook as I am.”</p><p>Steve chuckled then sobered as he looked at his classmate.  “Thanks again, Blake.  For everything.”</p><p>The patrolman smiled and winked.  “You’re welcome.  Tell that partner of yours hi for me, will ya?”</p><p>Nodding, Steve turned to slowly and carefully get out of the car.  “I will.”  He was just about to shut the door when Cummings stopped him.</p><p>“Hey, don’t forget this.”  He picked a silver thermos up from the seat beside him and held it out.</p><p>“Oh, jeez, right… thanks.”  Steve braced himself against the doorframe as he reached back in and took it.  He held it up.  “And thanks for this too.  Mike’ll love ya for it.”  He took a step back and slammed the door, watching with a smile as the red Corolla drove away.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>Steve opened the door slowly, poking his head in before he entered.  The pale blue drapes were pulled around the far bed.  He glanced at the one he’d been occupying; there was a sleeping old man in it now.</p><p>Letting the door close softly behind him, he tiptoed towards the curtains and, finding the opening, slipped between them.  Against the raised bedhead, the light blanket pulled up to his waist, Mike was sound asleep.  </p><p>Steve watched him for several long seconds then pulled the white plastic chair closer to the head of the bed and sat.  He put the thermos on the floor between his feet.</p><p>It wasn’t too long before the older man’s head moved slightly and he exhaled loudly, his eyes still closed.  He took a couple of deep breaths; his head moved again and his eyes opened.  He was staring at the far wall but frowning, as if slowly realizing he was not alone.  His head slowly turned to the left and his eyes settled on his smiling partner; he didn’t look surprised.</p><p>“When did you get here?”  There was amusement in his voice.</p><p>Steve smiled.  “Just a couple of minutes ago, honest.  How are you feeling?”</p><p>Mike shrugged carefully.  “About the same, I guess.  Maybe a little better.”</p><p>“Did they say anything about when they’re gonna let you out?”</p><p>“Tuesday, I think.  They want to make sure my lungs are okay.”</p><p>Steve nodded.  “That works for me.’</p><p>Mike snorted, as if accepting the inevitable, then he brightened.  “So, how was your night with Blake?”</p><p>Laughing, Steve shifted in the chair.  “Well, he cooks up a helluva burger, I can tell you that.  Oh, ah, I got a new back door.”</p><p>Mike frowned.  “Is that how Burke got into your place?”</p><p>“Yep.  Took the doorknob off my back door, wrecked the whole damn thing.  Cassidy had the IA guys replace it for me with a nice new metal one.  They tell me it’s unbreachable,” Steve chuckled.</p><p>“Well, let’s just hope you don’t have to find out.  Did they tell your landlord about the new door?”</p><p>Steve frowned.  “Ah, probably not.  I guess I’ll have to break the news to him myself.”</p><p>“Well, he shouldn’t complain.  It’s an upgrade, isn’t it?”</p><p>Laughing, Steve nodded then reached down the picked up the thermos.  “Oh, ah, I brought you a little present.”  He held the silver canister up so his partner could see it before he started twisting the cup off the top.  He grinned as he watched the older man’s brow furrowing in curiosity.  He held the cup out and Mike took it.  Then, standing, he pulled the cork out of the top and started to pour the milky brown liquid into the cup.</p><p>Mike’s frown slowly turned into a tentative smile.  “Is this…?” he asked slowly.</p><p>Beaming, Steve nodded.  “I asked Blake to pick up some up for me this morning.  I brewed a fresh pot just before I left to come here.”</p><p>Still smiling, Mike brought the cup to his lips and took a sip.  He closed his eyes and sighed as he swallowed then he looked at the younger man and frowned comically.  “I really hate Norm…”</p>
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<a name="section0092"><h2>92. Chapter 92</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Mike sighed happily, draining the last of the cup.  “Thank… you…” he said slowly for about the twentieth time.  “I really needed that.”  He looked at the thermos still in his partner’s hand.  “Do you think there’s a chance that’ll stay hot overnight so I can have another cup tomorrow morning?”</p><p>Steve looked at the thermos with a skeptical frown.  “Nah, I don’t think so.  Why don’t you finish this up now and I’ll bring another one tomorrow.”</p><p>Mike looked at him with a pleased but embarrassed smile.  “Look, they’re gonna let me out the day after tomorrow -“</p><p>“Maybe…”</p><p>“- so you don’t need to come see me tomorrow…”</p><p>“What else have I got to do?  The guys won’t let me cook or… anything, for that matter, and I’m not a soap opera fan.  And I can only read for so many hours, you know…”  He smiled warmly.  “It’ll give me something to do…”</p><p>Mike snorted and shook his head.  “Well, if it’ll save you from the depths of boredom, I appreciate the company… and the coffee.”  He chuckled.</p><p>The younger man grinned.  “Good.  Then it’s settled.  Give me your cup.”  As he started to pour the rest of the coffee, there was soft knock on the door and they could hear it open slowly.  With a quick glance at his partner, raising the thermos mid-pour, Steve got to his feet, crossed to the break between the curtains and looked out.  He glanced back at Mike briefly and snorted a chuckle as he held one of the curtains back.  “In here.”</p><p>Looking slightly chastened, Captain Cassidy stepped through the drapes, looking from one partner to the other.  “Well, ah, I wasn’t expecting to find you both here.”  He focused on Steve.  “I thought you were released yesterday.”</p><p>The inspector returned to the chair and finished pouring the coffee into the cup Mike was still holding out.  “I was.  I got bored.”  He glanced at his partner with a smirk and Mike nodded in agreement.</p><p>“Oh… okay.”  Cassidy looked at the lieutenant.  “How are you doing?”</p><p>“Better all the time,” Mike answered with a smile, lifting the cup slightly in a salute before taking a sip.</p><p>“Well, that’s good to hear.”  He shuffled almost nervously as both partners stared at him expectantly.  “Ah, so, ah, well, I was hoping to speak to each of you, ah, separately but, ah…”</p><p>Steve looked at Mike and shrugged.  “I can leave,” he said flatly, starting to get up.  </p><p>Cassidy waved him back down.  “No no, I can do that some other time,” he said quickly, knowing it was important for them to be together right now after such an hellacious ordeal.</p><p>“So, any more news about Burke?” Mike asked after a beat, realizing how uncomfortable the IA captain had become.</p><p>“Ah, yeah, he’s definitely going to make it.  They’re talking about moving him out of Intensive Care first thing tomorrow morning.  Which means, of course, that he can be arraigned in his hospital room.”</p><p>“Who’s the ADA handling it?” Steve asked, putting the thermos on the floor between his feet.</p><p>Cassidy frowned slightly as he watched the move but decided not to comment on it.  “Ah, O’Brien.  He asked for it, from what I heard.  Somebody said he’s really pissed off.”</p><p>The partners looked at each other and smiled slightly; that sounded about right to both of them.</p><p>“What’s he being charged with?” Steve asked.</p><p>“Well, attempted murder for sure,” Cassidy replied with an obvious glance at Mike, “assault, kidnapping and unlawful entry, for starters.  We’re still going through all yours files, Mike - oh, by the way, we found everything, thanks.  So there’s going to be more charges for sure - more assaults, probably extortion and who knows what the hell else.  If he doesn’t cop a plea, we’re all gonna be in for a very long trial.”  He raised his eyebrows and sighed loudly.  “Hopefully Gerry can work his magic and get Burke to plead guilty to everything.”</p><p>“Here’s hoping,” Steve agreed quietly, looking at his partner.  </p><p>Mike nodded softly then looked up at Cassidy.  “Has Burke been told I’m still alive?”</p><p>The captain frowned.  “You know, I have no idea, but I don’t think so.  He’s been out of it since he got here and, as far as I know, nobody’s been in to see him since they told us he’s out of danger and had regained consciousness… which he did just a couple of hours ago, from what I was told.”  His frown deepened.  “Why?”</p><p>Mike smiled enigmatically and looked at his partner.  “Before you come in tomorrow morning, do you think you could swing by my place and pick up a suit and everything else I need?” he asked, glancing at the hat on his bedside table.</p><p>“I’m sure I can do that, no problem,” Steve smiled back.</p><p>Mike nodded, turning his suddenly smug smile in the captain’s direction.  Cassidy looked from one to the other, settling on the older of the two.  “If you’re thinking of doing what I assume you’re thinking of doing…. I want to be there.”</p><p>“I think that’s a stellar idea.”  He looked at Steve again.  “What time do you think you can get here?”</p><p>The younger man thought about it for a long second.  “Get from my place to yours… pack everything up… get back here… help you change?”  He looked at Cassidy.  “Ten, ten-thirty?”</p><p>The captain grinned. “I’ll be here.  I’ll give Gerry a call and see if he wants to join us.  And I’ll talk to the guards we have on Burke’s door and make sure he has no visitors, and I’ll also tell the hospital staff that they answer none of his questions.”  He glanced at his watch.  “I better go do that now before someone lets a lip slip and tells him you’re on the mend,” he said quickly, glancing at Mike and smiling.  He turned to go.</p><p>“Ah, Captain,” Steve said quickly, stopping him.  “If you want, I can come in tomorrow afternoon and talk to you then?”</p><p>Cassidy nodded gratefully.  “That would be perfect, Steve, thanks.  We can head back to the Hall together after our little, ah, ta-da moment,” he chuckled, glancing at Mike; his smile widened before it wavered and his eyes turned dark.  “I want to see that bastard back on his heels.  If he thinks you’re dead and you walk into his room…. I want Gerry there so any ‘spontaneous utterances’ are on the record.”</p><p>“Sounds good to me,” Mike agreed with a smile and Steve nodded.  “Cheers,” the older man chuckled as he raised the cup.  Cassidy frowned in amused confusion.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>“Sorry you had to wait,” Steve apologized as he got gingerly into the passenger seat of Carl Lemire’s Chevelle, wincing with the effort.  “The elevators took forever.”</p><p>“No problem.  Are you okay?” the robbery inspector asked with a concerned frown.</p><p>He nodded, releasing a held breath as he settled in.  “Yeah, just a little sore.  Turned out to be a busy day.”  He put the thermos on the seat between them.</p><p>“You brought a thermos?”</p><p>Steve chuckled.  “Long story.  I’ll tell you over dinner.”</p><p>Lemire pulled away from the curb.  “Yeah, about that…  Blake is a much better cook than I am.  So I was thinking… wanna pick up some of that fried chicken from Pollo Loco on the way to your place?”</p><p>“It’s kinda out of the way, isn’t it?”</p><p>Lemire shrugged with a laugh.  “Traffic’s light…. And besides, I haven’t been there since we graduated.”</p><p>Steve grinned.  “Neither have I.  Let’s go.”</p><p># # # # #</p><p>“Hey, hey, right on time,” Mike chuckled when Steve came through the curtains with an overnight bag in one hand and a small cooler in the other.  He dropped the overnight bag on the foot of the bed and set the cooler on the bedtable.  Mike gestured at the cooler with his chin.  “What’s in there?”</p><p>Steve grinned as he opened the bag on the bed.  “Lunch.”</p><p>“Lunch?”  </p><p>“Yeah, we’ll have it when we get back.”  He glanced over his shoulder.  “Cassidy and O’Brien here yet?”  He was taking black oxfords, socks, boxer shorts, a belt and the maroon knit vest out of the bag.</p><p>Mike shook his head.  “I haven’t seen them but there’s still time.”  He was staring at the items Steve was setting on the end of the bed.  “You didn’t stuff my suit in there, did you?” he asked, alarmed.</p><p>Steve turned a narrowed-eyed smirk in his direction.  “Of course not,” he growled.  “Carl carried the garment bag up but he didn’t have time to come in, he got a call.  It’s out in the hallway.  I’m getting it now.”  He turned to head back out of the cubicle, sighing with feigned irritation.  </p><p>Chuckling to himself, Mike watched the younger man disappear through the curtains then, gritting his teeth, pushed himself away from the bedhead, tossing the blanket away and swinging his legs over the edge of the bed.  He’d been up and walking around a bit already that morning, but his chest and back were still very sore and he had to move very slowly.  He slid carefully off the bed, catching his breath when his feet hit the floor.</p><p>Steve came back through the curtains carrying the garment bag in both hands and frowning in discomfort.  “Hey, are you supposed to do that by yourself?”</p><p>Mike grinned guiltily and shrugged gingerly.  “I did it.”</p><p>“God, we’re a pair, aren’t we?” Steve muttered loud enough for his partner to hear as he laid the garment bag on the bed.  “Do the doctors know you’re doing this?”</p><p>Mike had turned to the bed and was picking up the clothes, opting to leave the shoes for now.  He was waiting for Steve to take the suit and shirt out of the garment bag.  “Oh, yeah, they know.  They said it was fine… as long as I go back and forth to Burke’s room in a wheelchair.”</p><p>Sliding the suit out of the bag on the hanger, Steve stared at his partner for a beat, frowning.  “And you agreed?  You… in a wheelchair?  Voluntarily?”</p><p>Mike smirked.  “Ha ha.”  He reached for the hanger but Steve pulled it away from his grasp.  “I don’t really have a choice,” Mike continued.  “They said it was the wheelchair or I couldn’t go.”  He harrumphed.  “I felt like I was back in school…”</p><p>Chuckling, Steve continued to hold the suit away from the other man’s reach.  “I’ll carry this and your shirt.  The bathroom?”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>Their arms loaded, Steve pulled one of the curtains back and they crossed the few feet to the bathroom.  Steve hung the hangers with the suit and the shirt on the back of the door.  “Yell if you need help.”</p><p>Mike smiled coldly.  “I will, Mom.”</p><p>Growling good-naturedly under his breath, Steve closed the door.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>Mike was sitting on the plastic chair, Steve kneeling in front of him doing up his shoes when Cassidy and O’Brien opened the door, glancing and nodding at the old man in the first bed before stepping between the curtains.  </p><p>The detectives looked up and smiled as Cassidy took a quick step forward and started to kneel.  “Here, I can do that -“ he began but Steve cut him off.</p><p>“Done.  But you can help me stand up, if that’s all right?” he asked lightly and Cassidy, suddenly flustered, nodded, grabbing the younger man’s elbow and gently helping him to his feet.</p><p>O’Brien looked from one partner to the other, wincing at the stark white bandage over Steve’s nose and his black eyes.  “Well, you two have had a helluva week, haven’t you?”  He looked worried and relieved at the same time.</p><p>Mike snorted a laugh, glancing at his partner.  “Yep,” he nodded, “you could say that.  Steve?”</p><p>“Oh yeah,” the younger man chuckled.  “But we’re still here.”</p><p>“I can see that,” O’Brien smiled.  “Thank god.”</p><p>“Steve,” Mike said quietly, raising his right hand as his partner looked at him.  Steve took a step closer to the chair but Cassidy beat him to it.  Between them, they got the injured lieutenant to his feet, both of them keeping a hand on his arms till he felt secure.  He nodded his thanks to them both.</p><p>Steve picked up the fedora from the bedtable and held it out.  Mike took it with a soft smile and  placed it almost reverentially on his own head.  Steve watched, smiling past the lump in his throat.</p><p>Cassidy walked to the door and opened it; a wheelchair was standing just outside the door in the bustling corridor.  The captain looked at Mike with a wide smile.  “Lieutenant, your chariot awaits.”</p>
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<a name="section0093"><h2>93. Chapter 93</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>O’Brien picked up the briefcase that he’d left near the door as Mike led the small group out of the room.  The senior homicide detective cast a baleful eye on the wheelchair as Cassidy stepped behind it and grabbed the push handles with an amused smile he shared with the inspector.  O’Brien used his free hand to grab Mike’s elbow and help him down into the chair, the older man holding his breath and trying not to groan too loudly.  Still smiling, Cassidy hustled around to the front of the chair and dropped the footrests, trying to ignore Mike’s glare.</p><p>They started towards the elevators.</p><p>O’Brien fell into step beside the chair.  “So, ah, Judge Reichardt is waiting for us outside of Burke’s room.”</p><p>“Reichardt?  How did you talk him into coming?” Mike asked, only mildly surprised that the storied jurist would make an ‘arraignment housecall’.  “I thought one of the younger guys would be doing it.”</p><p>“Yeah, you‘d think so,” O’Brien laughed softly, “and I asked Novello originally last night but Reichardt happened to be walking down the corridor and he overheard me.  And when he found out it was Burke, well…. All I can say is, he’s pissed as hell and he wants me to throw the book at him.”</p><p>Reichardt was a judge that the cops knew would be fair towards them, as well as towards the accused.  And he was on a first name basis with a lot of the old-timers, Mike among them.</p><p>“He won’t be the trial judge, of course, if it comes to that,” O’Brien continued.  They had reached the elevators and Cassidy pressed the button.  “But I have an idea about that.”  He turned to face the others as well.  “When we get to Burke’s room, I’d like you, Mike, and you, Steve, to stay outside until the judge, George and I have a chance to talk to Burke alone.  And I’ll have George get you when we need you, Mike.  Is that okay with you two?”  He looked from one partner to the other.</p><p>They exchanged a glance then they both nodded.  They had worked with the ADA enough over the years to know that he didn’t make requests frivolously.  </p><p>Steve smiled suspiciously.  “What’ve you got up your sleeve, Gerry?”</p><p>O’Brien chuckled and shook his head.  “Well, I’m not going to jinx myself by telling you guys, that’s for sure.”</p><p>The elevator arrived and Cassidy pushed the wheelchair in first; the others followed.  They were all smiling.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>Judge Reichardt, wearing a black suit and a scowl, was, as O’Brien had told them, waiting outside Burke’s door with a couple of uniformed officers.  He smiled spontaneously when the small entourage appeared around a corner, heading his way, his focus on the man in the wheelchair.  As they approached, he took a step forward and extended his hand.  “Michael, it’s good to see you.”  He frowned at the wheelchair.  “How are you doing?”  There was real concern in his voice.</p><p>Mike beamed as he shook the proffered hand.  “I’m doing fine, Malcolm.  This is just hospital protocol.”</p><p>“Good, good.”  The judge looked up at O’Brien.  “So, Gerry, shall we do the honors?”</p><p>The ADA smiled.  “Ah, sir, can I speak to you for a moment before we go in?”</p><p>Reichardt frowned.  “Of course.”  They took a few steps further down the corridor, their heads together as O’Brien outlined what he wanted to accomplish.</p><p>Cassidy parked the wheelchair beside a row of chairs halfway down the hallway from Burke’s door and set the brake.  Mike stared straight ahead with a frustrated frown, still miffed at having to use the wheelchair.  Steve swallowed a smile as he sat in the closest chair, trying not to wince or groan as he did so.</p><p>As Cassidy straightened up from raising the footrests, Mike looked down the corridor at O’Brien and Reichardt.  “I wonder what Gerry has in mind?  Do you know?” he asked the IA captain.</p><p>“Me?” Cassidy feigned innocence.  “I’m just the muscle here today, not the brains.”</p><p>“Yeah, right,” Mike muttered, half annoyance, half amusement.</p><p>The two members of the judiciary wandered back up the corridor and O’Brien collected Cassidy with a nod.  The captain looked at the homicide detectives with raised eyebrows as he started away.  The three disappeared into the room.</p><p>Mike looked at his partner and sighed, drumming his fingers on the arm of the wheelchair.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>It was soon obvious that Darren Burke was not only awake but compos mentis, as far as Reichardt was concerned.  The ex-training sergeant had greeted them with disdain when they walked through the door and his mood was not about to improve, they quickly discerned, as he slammed the handcuff on his left wrist against the siderails of the bed.</p><p>The judge, his patience rapidly depleting, nodded at O’Brien to begin.</p><p>The ADA stepped closer to the bed, staring into the defiant eyes glaring back at him.  “This is not going to take long, Burke, you know why we’re here.”</p><p>Burke kept his mouth shut.</p><p>“I’m sure you know Judge Reichardt,” he said flatly, introducing the jurist, who nodded, “and Captain Cassidy from Internal Affairs.”</p><p>Burke’s eyes shifted to Cassidy and darkened.  The animosity was palpable; Cassidy stared back with equal contempt. </p><p>“We’ve got you dead to rights, Burke,” O’Brien continued, “so it’s just a matter of semantics right now, really.  But I’m going to make you an offer, which is more than you deserve, to make this whole… ugly incident go away as quickly as possible for all of us.”</p><p>For the first time, Burke’s hate-filled stare wavered slightly and a tinge of confusion wafted over his face.</p><p>“You know as well as anybody here that we could recommend the death penalty for the murder of a cop.  And we will.  And god knows it’s deserved, it’s the right thing to do.  The entire department… the entire judicial system… and the entire city is behind us on this one.  And as you well know, we don’t only have ballistics, we have an eyewitness as well.  It could probably the tightest death penalty case I will ever try in my career.”</p><p>Burke’s eyes snapped from O’Brien to Reichardt; the judge’s face was a curious blend of fury and vindication and he nodded once, slowly.</p><p>“And the murder of a cop,” O’Brien continued softly, the ex-sergeant’s eyes swinging back to his, “could just the first in a long line of charges you’re facing, as you well know.  For a start there’s attempted murder, aggravated assault, assault with a deadly weapon, kidnapping, car theft… not to mention the myriad number of charges we’re going to be filing for extortion and assault when we get through all those rescinded complaints in your IA file.”</p><p>Burke’s eyes slid to Cassidy, who smiled back triumphantly.</p><p>“So, you see, you’re going away for the rest of your life regardless.  But you won’t have to worry about that because, well, the death penalty could cut that short.  I mean, you know, you could be sitting on death row for about ten years probably before they’d put you in the chamber…”  O’Brien looked over his shoulder at the Reichardt.  “Is that about right, Judge?  Ten years?”</p><p>Reichardt pursed his lips and nodded.  “That sounds about right.”</p><p>O’Brien stared at Burke again, at the eyes that were losing a little more of their defiance.  He waited for a beat before he said finally, “I have a deal for you, former Sergeant Burke,” he said flatly, emphasizing the ‘former’.  “Do you want to hear it?”</p><p>They stared at each other for several long tense seconds before Burke grunted, “What is it?”</p><p>O’Brien felt his heart begin to pound and he knew Reichardt and Cassidy were feeling the same; Burke was buckling.  He took a deep breath to steady his nerves and his voice.  “We’ll take the death penalty off the table if today, right now, you plead guilty to all the lesser charges.  You know you’re going away for the rest of your life anyway, but at least you won’t be spending it on death row and you won’t have that hanging over your head.  And we will put it in writing that we will never re-file for the death penalty again.  No double jeopardy.”</p><p>Burke stared at the ADA without blinking for another tense few beats then looked at Reichardt.  After a slight pause, the judge nodded once.  Cassidy’s hands balled into fists but he didn’t move, holding his breath.</p><p>“I can get that in writing?” Burke finally asked, looking back at O’Brien.  </p><p>His expression unchanging, O’Brien nodded.  “I can do that right now.”  He picked up his briefcase and put it on the small table beside the bed, opening it.  Trying to swallow a smile, he took out a sheaf of papers stapled together and held them out.  </p><p>Burke’s brow furrowed and he reached out to take the papers as O’Brien, trying to hide his smug smile, pulled the overbed table closer. </p><p>Burke looked at the top sheet, then flipped to the second one before glaring up at O’Brien again.  “You had this typed up already?” he accused, anger in his voice.</p><p>“Let’s just say I was hoping you would be a reasonable man,” O’Brien said softly.  Behind him he could hear a soft snort from Cassidy.</p><p>Burke’s glare snapped from O’Brien to Cassidy, whose smile quickly disappeared.  “You don’t mind if I read this before I sign it, do you?” he grunted and O’Brien shook his head.</p><p>“Not at all,” he said smoothly, reaching into his inside jacket pocket for a pen.</p><p>O’Brien, Reichardt and Cassidy stood quietly, without moving, while Burke went over the guilty plea word for word.  It took almost five minutes for the disgraced cop to read the list of charges then he looked up, reaching out to take the pen that O’Brien proffered with a low contemptuous growl.</p><p>Reichardt stepped closer to the bed and took the pen from Burke when he had finished signing.  With a quick glance at the papers, the judge added his own signature, then O’Brien finished the formalities by adding his own.  </p><p>As O’Brien flipped the pages back and put the pen in his jacket pocket, he glanced over his shoulder at Cassidy and nodded.  With a smile, the IA captain left the room.  Burke frowned as he watched the interplay.</p><p>“If we’re done, you can leave now,” he spat out.</p><p>O’Brien, putting the papers in the briefcase, glanced at the bed, smiling enigmatically.  “We’re not quite finished.  There’s someone who wants to have a word with you before we consider this all over.  Won’t be a minute,” he assured as he snapped the briefcase shut and picked it up.</p><p>The door opened again and Cassidy re-entered, Steve right behind him.  O’Brien and Reichardt were staring at Burke and watched as his eyes darkened when they fell on the still bandaged and bruised Homicide inspector.  Cassidy held the door open as Steve moved deeper into the room and Burke braced himself, ready for whatever the young cop was going to say.  </p><p>Then Mike Stone casually stepped into doorway, his hands in his pockets, smiling.  Burke’s face lost all colour and his eyes widened in shock.  Continuing to smile, Mike stepped slowly into the room, his eyes on Burke, who stared back disbelievingly.</p><p>“Hello, Darren.  Surprised to see me?” Mike asked conversationally.</p><p>After a very long confused beat, frozen and unblinking, as if he was looking at a ghost, Burke roared, “What the hell?!”, his head swivelling to O’Brien.  “You told me I was getting the death penalty for killing a cop -“</p><p>The ADA was already shaking his head.  “No no no no no…” he said softly, chuckling, “if you remember correctly, and we do,” he glanced at Reichardt and Cassidy, who nodded in confirmation, “I never said we were charging you with the murder of a cop, I just said that the death penalty could be applied to the murder of a cop.”  He shrugged.  “It’s not my fault that you misinterpreted what I said.  That you assumed I meant that you had killed a cop.”  He looked at Mike and smiled.  “And as you can see, Lieutenant Stone is very much alive and well.”</p><p>Mike, his hands still in his pockets, grinned at O’Brien and nodded.</p><p>The ADA looked back at the man in the bed. “We’re finished here.”  He took a step towards the door then looked back at Burke.  “Thank you for your… cooperation,” he said flippantly as he started out the door Cassidy was still holding open.  Reichardt followed.</p><p>Mike and Steve were still staring at the bed, Mike with a smug smile, Steve with barely controlled anger.  Burke glared back.  Mike snorted dryly, shaking his head.  “Come on, Steve, we’ve got better things to do.”</p><p>Tearing his eyes from the man who had made his life a living hell, Steve stepped closer to his partner and, with a last contemptuous and dismissive glance at the bed, they moved past Cassidy and left the room.</p>
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<a name="section0094"><h2>94. Chapter 94</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Wow, Gerry, that was slick,” Cassidy crowed as he lowered the footrests on the wheelchair after helping Mike get back into it.  “He didn’t know what hit him.”</p><p>Steve looked from Cassidy to O’Brien and back again.  “What are you talking about?”</p><p>Reichardt took a step closer to the ADA and held out his right hand.  “Gerry, that was a work of art, son.”</p><p>With an almost embarrassed smile, O’Brien shook the judge’s hand.  “Thank you, sir.”</p><p>Reichardt stepped back and looked at the man in the wheelchair.  “You take good care of yourself, Mike, and get well soon.  The city needs you.”  They shook hands.</p><p>“Thank, Malcolm.”</p><p>The judge looked at Steve.  “Young fella, I hear you’re one of the best.  And not just from him,” he chuckled, nodding towards Mike as he shook Steve’s hand.  “You get better soon too, you hear.  We need both of you on the streets.”  He smiled at Cassidy.  “Good to see you too, George.”  As he turned to walk the other way down the corridor, he called cheerily back over his shoulder, “See you all in court!”</p><p>The others chuckled as they started towards the elevators, Cassidy pushing the chair.  Mike looked up at O’Brien.  “So what happened in there?”</p><p>“I’ll tell you what happened,” Cassidy answered, still obviously awestruck.  “Gerry just saved us one hell of a long and horrible trial, that’s what.”</p><p>“How did you do that?” Steve asked, obviously confused but impressed.</p><p>“Well, I just got him to plead guilty, that’s all,” O’Brien said abashedly.</p><p>“What?”  Both homicide detectives spit out the word at the same time.</p><p>“How the hell did you do that?” Mike elaborated.</p><p>O’Brien cleared his throat.  “Well, I used a little… verbal camouflage…”</p><p>Steve pulled him to a stop; they were at the elevators and Cassidy pushed the button.  “Verbal camouflage…?”</p><p>Cassidy chuckled, shaking his head in amazement.  “Gerry was saying one thing and Burke thought he was saying something else.”</p><p>“Okay, now, wait,” Mike shook his head, raising both hands, “this was all on the up-and-up, right?  I mean, he was Mirandized and all that, right?”</p><p>O’Brien and Cassidy looked at him from under hooded eyes.  The IA captain answered for them both with feigned irriation.  “What, you think we’re amateurs?  He was read his rights the second he woke up yesterday and he waived a lawyer then, he waived one earlier this morning, and he was handcuffed to the bed.  He knew why we were there.  And he’s a cop, for Christ sake, he knows what his rights are.  Besides, Judge Reichardt proclaimed him compos mentis this morning, so it’s all above board.”  He patted Mike’s shoulder almost condescendingly.  “You can relax,” he chuckled and Mike shot him a look that would’ve melted asphalt then meliorated it with a smile.</p><p>O’Brien chuckled, glancing at Steve.  “Besides, he knew he could’ve asked for one at any time and he didn’t, so…?”</p><p>The elevator doors opened and they waited for a gurney, its attendants and a couple of visitors to exit before they could enter.  They weren’t alone so decided to forego conversation until they were back in Mike’s room.</p><p>As they left the elevator on the right floor, Mike looked up at O’Brien and Cassidy.  “Do you guys have to leave right away?  I’d really like to know what happened but I don’t really want to have a powwow in my room.  My roommate’s a nice guy and a little hard of hearing, but I’m not sure those curtains are a brick wall, if you know what I mean.  Besides, I think he thinks I’m a bit of a lunatic.”</p><p>The other three laughed.  “What do you mean?” his partner asked.</p><p>They were getting close to the room and Cassidy slowed down.  “Well, just after he was brought to the room, we got to talking and I asked him why he was in.  He has prostate cancer.”  Mike made a face as the others winced.  “Yeah, doesn’t sound good…. Anyway, after he went on about it for about an hour, or so it seemed, he finally got around to asking me why I was in.  So I told him I got shot in the chest, twice, at close range, four days ago.”  He paused, feigning innocence.  “I don’t think he believed me.  And he hasn’t talked to me since.”</p><p>The others laughed; Steve patted his partner on the shoulder.</p><p>Chuckling, Mike nodded ahead of them down the corridor.  “There’s a sunroom at the other end of hall.  Let’s go down there.”</p><p># # # # #</p><p>“You know, I was really hoping when the doctor saw me in the suit, that he’d let me go home,” Mike groused as he left the bathroom, handing the suit and dress shirt to his partner and, after dropping the fedora on the bedside table, started to get back into the bed.  </p><p>Chuckling, Steve laid the garment bag on the end of the bed and began to put the clothes on the hangers.  “Tomorrow will come soon enough.  Anyway, when I get this all packed up, we’ll have lunch.”</p><p>“Oh yeah,” the older man said brightly, eyeing the cooler, that had been moved to the floor, as he tried to get comfortable, wincing with the effort.  “I forgot about that.  What is it?”</p><p>“Just hold your horses.  I’ll be finished here in a minute.”  He did up the garment bag and finished putting the rest of Mike’s clothes in the overnight bag then set them both by the door.</p><p>“Why don’t you leave the garment bag here and we can bring it home tomorrow?” Mike suggested, unhappy with the idea of his still recovering partner having to deal with both heavy items, and Steve looked at him with a frown.</p><p>“That’s a great idea,” he chuckled, carrying the bag to the bathroom to hang it on the hook on the back of the door.  “We’ll have to remember not to forget it.”</p><p>“Wait a minute,” Mike said suddenly, shaking his head slightly and chuckling.  “I feel like I’m a beat behind, both of us are a beat behind…  Ah, why don’t we just leave everything here and I can just wear it all home tomorrow?”</p><p>Steve looked at him again without saying a word then he crossed to the door, picked up the overnight bag and deposited it near the bathroom door.</p><p>“Make sure it’s out of the way,” Mike whispered sotto voce, pointing at the curtain that separated his bed from the other one and making a ‘yikes’ face.</p><p>Chuckling softly, Steve tucked the overnight bag against the foot of the bed.  Mike nodded his approval and they both grinned.  Steve dragged the chair closer to the head of the bed, picked up the cooler and, moving the hat out of the way, put it on the table and opened it.  The first thing he took out was the thermos and he raised his eyebrows with a knowing leer.</p><p>“Oh my god,” Mike almost yelled, catching himself and dropping the decibel level considerably.   “Elixir of the gods, thank you thank you thank you…”  He took it with both hands reverentially, like an offering.  He twisted the cup off the top and put it on the table then slid the cork out and poured.  </p><p>He had just taken the first sip, closing his eyes in ecstasy, when Steve said, “You remember me telling you about some of the great restaurants the guys and I used to go to when we were at the Academy?”</p><p>“You mean the ones that weren’t there when I went to the Academy?”</p><p>“You mean your turn-of-the-century restaurants, the ones that served sarsaparilla and pickles from a barrel…?  Yeah, not those ones.”</p><p>“Go on,” Mike intoned pedantically with a smirk.</p><p>“Anyway,” Steve chuckled, relieved beyond words that life was slowly getting back to normal for them, “last night Carl and I went to Pollo Loco - which means Crazy Chicken -“</p><p>“Crazy Chicken,” Mike said at the same time, nodding irritatedly, “yeah, I know…”</p><p>“- and bought enough for dinner… and for our lunch,” he said with a grin as he took a Tupperware container out of the cooler, bobbing his eyebrows.</p><p>Mike’s face lit up.  “I’ve died and gone to heaven,” he chuckled, rolling his eyes.  “Bring it on, buddy boy, bring it on.”</p><p>They settled down to eat, Steve having brought paper plates and napkins and a Coke for himself.  Mike quickly agreed that indeed it was delicious chicken and between that and the coffee, he was having a great afternoon.</p><p>They were almost finished, eating in silence, when Steve looked up from the chair and, after watching the older man silently for a couple of beats, said softly, “Can I ask you something?”</p><p>The tone was serious and Mike stopped chewing, meeting the slightly frowning green eyes and nodding.  “Sure, of course…”</p><p>“Why didn’t you take a shot at Burke?”</p><p>Mike stared at him for a beat, expressionless.  “At your place?”</p><p>Steve nodded slightly.  “Yeah…”</p><p>“I, ah, I couldn’t get a clear shot… I was worried about hitting you…”</p><p>Steve nodded slowly, looking down.  He waited a long beat before saying quietly, “You weren’t wearing a vest when you picked me up at the hospital…”</p><p>The ghost of a smile gradually appeared on the lieutenant’s lips.  “When I got back to your place after I spotted the motorcycle…”  He cleared his throat softly.  “Well, I knew he was in your apartment… and he’d be desperate…  And I knew I was only going to get one chance to stop him.”  He looked down, pursing his lips.  “And I also knew, if he hadn’t killed you already, that he was going to have to go through me to do that… or to get you out of there… and that wasn’t going to happen if I had anything to say about it…”</p><p>He took a deep breath, wincing slightly, continuing to look down.  “I knew I had to get in there as soon as I could, but I also knew I had to be ready for anything…. So I popped the trunk and got the vest out…”  He smiled softly to himself.  “I knew if I was going to have an advantage over Burke, I couldn’t let him know I had a vest on.  I figured I could survive a shot to the chest wearing the vest but if he saw it, then he’d go for my head and then I wouldn’t have a chance at all.”</p><p>He looked up and smiled sadly.  “I know it didn’t take me too long to strip down and get the vest on under my shirt…but it felt like the longest couple of minutes of my life…”  His jaw clenched and his eyes brightened.  He snorted gently as if trying to will the memory away.</p><p>“That was a hell of a gamble,” Steve said quietly, staring at his partner’s downturned face.</p><p>Mike snorted again, this time in apology.  “But I didn’t stop him, did I?  He stopped me and because of that he could’ve killed you and Marc and so many others…”</p><p>Very slowly, Steve reached out and laid his hand on his partner’s forearm, squeezing gently.  “But he didn’t…. And what you did was the bravest thing I’ve ever seen… I’ll never forget it…”</p><p>Still looking down, Mike’s lips began to quiver.  “I’d do it again in a heartbeat…”</p><p>Steve’s grip got a little tighter.  “I know you would…” he whispered.  </p><p>They sat in silence for almost a minute, both of them grateful to be able to share their lives again, to be honest with each other.  Mike closed his eyes, taking a long deep breath and holding it, wincing from the pain.  It was the pain he needed to feel at this moment, the pain that grounded him, that brought back the reality of what they had just been through, what had been at stake and what they had survived.  He felt Steve’s fingers dig into his forearm and he opened his eyes.  He exhaled slowly and he smiled.</p><p>Steve released his grip, running his fingers softly up and down his partner’s forearm then patting him gently before removing his hand.</p><p>Mike sniffed then cleared his throat; turning his head slightly, still smiling, he met his partner’s stare.  “Hey, ah, we got any of that chicken left?”</p><p>Steve bit his bottom lip, the tears springing to his eyes, then he grinned.  “Yeah…” he said raggedly, “ah, yeah, I think we do.”</p>
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<a name="section0095"><h2>95. Chapter 95</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Mike was staring at his hands.  “My fingers are all greasy,” he said quietly, almost to himself.  Then he turned his head towards his partner and grinned.  “And I don’t care.  That was great.”</p><p>Chuckling, Steve got to his feet, handed Mike a wet napkin and picked up the paper plate with the small pile of denuded chicken bones from the older man’s lap.  “So am I to assume you liked it?”</p><p>With a tired sigh, after industriously attempting to wipe the grease off his fingers, Mike leaned his head back against the pillow and closed his eyes.  He was a little more uncomfortable than he cared to admit but he smiled anyway.  “You can assume correctly…”</p><p>Steve took the wet napkin out of his partner’s hands and put the paper plates, used napkins and bones into the garbage can beside the bedtable, frowning.  “Are you okay?”</p><p>“Oh, sure.  Just a little sore.  I haven’t been doing much more than just getting up and walking around the floor for a bit the past couple of days…  It’s obviously going to take me a little longer to bounce back than I thought…”  He opened his eyes and shrugged slightly.</p><p>“Well,” Steve began facetiously, glancing exaggeratedly at the curtain that separated the beds, “you were shot twice, in the chest, at close range, five days ago… remember?”  He laughed.</p><p>Mike closed his eyes again, chuckling.  “Maybe he’d believe me if you told him.”</p><p>“I doubt it.  Besides, you’re getting out tomorrow so why bother.”</p><p>“That’s true.”</p><p>Steve watched him silently for a few seconds, his smile slowly disappearing.  “Ah, listen,” he said finally, and the older man’s eyes opened slightly, “I better give Carl a call to come pick me up.  It’ll probably take him awhile to get here.”  He started towards the door.</p><p>“Use this one,” Mike stopped him, pointing at the black phone on the bedside table.</p><p>Steve shook his head.  “It’ll be quieter if I use the one in the hall.  I won’t be long.”  He left the room.</p><p>Mike closed his eyes again, trying to get comfortable.  The broken rib in his back was giving him more grief than usual.  He heard the door open and assumed it was his partner coming back until the soft clearing of a throat broke the silence and he opened his eyes.  Doctor Graham was smiling down at him.</p><p>“I hear you were a very good… patient and rode in the wheelchair today like you were told,” the physician chuckled as he took the stethoscope out of his pocket and put the tips in his ears.</p><p>Mike smiled.  “Yes, I was and I did.  You’d’ve been proud of me,” he laughed softly.</p><p>The doctor leaned forward and slipped an arm behind his patient’s back.  Mike squeezed his eyes shut, trying to control the pain as he let the doctor help him up.  “And did you accomplish what you set out to do?”</p><p>Sitting up and holding his breath, his eyes remaining closed, Mike nodded.</p><p>“Good.  How are you feeling?”</p><p>The older man wagged his head gently from side to side.  “My back really hurts.”</p><p>“I’m not surprised.”  Graham opened the hospital gown and placed the diaphragm against the lower right side of his patient’s back.  “Deep breath.”</p><p>Mike inhaled slowly through his teeth, trying not to moan.</p><p>“Release.”</p><p>Blowing his breath out carefully, Mike heard the door again and opened his eyes.  Steve, frowning in concern, was walking slowly towards the bed.  Graham moved the diaphragm.  “Again.”  Mike closed his eyes once more as he inhaled.</p><p>Steve watched silently as the doctor finished the examination and had taken the tips of the stethoscope out of his ears before he asked softly, “Is he okay?”</p><p>Graham turned to him with a smile.  “He’s doing great.  His lungs are clear, which is our main concern, of course.”  His attention shifted to his patient.  “The pain is your back is to be expected.  A broken rib next to the spine is always the worst and it’s going to take a little longer to heal than the rib in your chest… but don’t worry, you’re doing fine.  And, barring anything catastrophic happening between now and tomorrow morning, which I doubt very much, we’ll let you go home.”  He glanced back at the worried young inspector.  “How does that sound?”</p><p>“Wonderful,” Mike breathed, relieved.</p><p>Steve nodded.  “Yeah…. Ah, any idea what time?  I’m not allowed to drive yet and I have to arrange a pick-up for him.”</p><p>Graham shook his head quickly with a facial shrug.  “Well, ah, let’s say we shoot for 10…?”</p><p>The partners looked at each other and nodded.  “Works for us,” Mike chuckled as he lowered himself back down on the bed, his teeth clenched.  “Thanks, Doc.”</p><p>“My pleasure,” Graham said as he started for the door.  “I’m off - I have sicker people to look after.  It never stops.”  He glanced back with a grin as he disappeared through the door.</p><p>Steve looked at his partner and smiled.  “Carl will be here in about a half hour, so I’ll wander down to the front door in about twenty minutes.  Anything I can get you before I go?”</p><p>Mike shook his head.  “No no, I’m fine.”</p><p>“Okay.  Listen, ah, neither of us is going back to work for awhile, obviously, so I’ll move into your place so between us we have one functioning human being… how does that sound?”</p><p>Mike chuckled, wincing slightly.  “That sounds like a plan.”</p><p>“Good.  Bob Cole is gonna come to my place after his shift ends this afternoon, so I’m gonna get him to take me for a grocery run tonight and we’ll stock your place up and I’ll move some of my stuff in so when you get out tomorrow we can just to go straight to your place.”</p><p>“You’ve got this all figured out, haven’t you?”  The younger man nodded enthusiastically, beaming.  “Good for you.”</p><p>Still smiling, Steve lowered himself into the chair, wincing slightly.  Mike frowned.  “You okay?”</p><p>The younger man nodded again.  “Yeah, just a little sore, like you.”</p><p>Mike snorted in empathy.  “How’s the nose feeling?”</p><p>“Not bad, actually.  It doesn’t really hurt anymore but, I mean, you know, I still know it’s tender.  I sometimes forget and inhale sharply and that hurts like hell,” he chuckled.  “And I’m still not allowed to blow it.  But, all things considered, it feels pretty good.”</p><p>“That’s good.”  Mike’s eyes narrowed.  “Even with the bandage still on, it looks good.  It looks normal.  One less thing to worry about.”  He smiled then sighed softly and lowered his head, staring down at the bed, his gaze unfocusing.  </p><p>Steve frowned.  “What’s bothering you?” he asked quietly and Mike looked up, smiling slightly, amused at having his mind read.</p><p>“Burke.”</p><p>“What about him?”</p><p>Mike sighed with a small shrug.  “What are the odds that he’s a lone wolf, do you think?  I mean, I know we still haven’t figured out who was with him when he beat Marc Taylor up, you know that.  So whoever that was is still out there.  And as far as we know, whoever that was might not be a cop anyway…”  He paused and sighed again.  “What if Burke isn’t the only bad apple on the force shaking down guys like Taylor and King?  Or guys who don’t want to go back to jail for minor parole violations or stuff like that?”  He looked at the younger man, frowning.  </p><p>Steve cocked his head and raised his eyebrows.  “Well, the odds aren’t good, that’s for sure.  But that’s why there’s an Internal Affairs division, right?  To root out those bad apples?”</p><p>“But they missed Burke, didn’t they?  And for a long time, it seems…. I mean, if Burke hadn’t gone after a friend of Bill’s, he could still be out there, still beating people up, still extorting money… still making peoples lives a living hell…”</p><p>Steve knew this stain on the reputation of the department that he loved so much was like an open wound for his partner, a wound that would take a long time to heal.  “Well, Burke’s off the streets now, permanently, right?  It’s a good start.”</p><p>Mike snorted softly in reluctant agreement.  “But what if he’s only the tip of the iceberg?”</p><p>The younger man smiled encouragingly.  “I know this isn’t what you want to hear… but it’s not our department, Mike, literally and figuratively.  You know that.”</p><p>With a sigh and a self-deprecating chuckle, Mike bobbled his head.  “Yeah, I know…. But that doesn’t mean I have to be happy about it.”</p><p>Laughing, Steve reached out and patted his partner’s arm.  “I know.”  He glanced at his watch.  “You sure there’s nothing I can get you before I leave?”</p><p>Mike shook his head.  “No, thanks, I’m good.”</p><p>Steve got to his feet.  “Okay.  Well, I’m gonna head down in case Carl gets here early.  There’s no place for him to park and I don’t want to make him have to circle the block waiting for me if he doesn’t need to.”  He smiled warmly.  “I’ll see you tomorrow.”</p><p>Mike nodded, smiling almost perfunctorily.  Steve knew his mind was still on Burke and all the ramifications that would ensue if the actions the rogue cop had taken became public knowledge.  It could take years for the department, and the men and women who proudly wore its uniforms and carried its badges, to recover in the eyes of the people of his beloved city.  “Yeah.  Ah, thanks for bringing all my stuff in.”</p><p>“You’re welcome.  Have a good night.”  He turned back when he got to the door; Mike’s smile had disappeared and he was staring blankly into space.  As he started out the door, he heard his name called hesitantly and he looked at the bed.  Mike was studying him with a wistful smile.  “It’s been a pretty awful summer, hasn’t it?” he said softly.</p><p>Steve frowned, pressing his lips together as he smiled sadly, nodding.  Though the question sounded rhetorical, he knew it wasn’t.  He sighed quietly before whispering, “Yeah… yeah, it sure has.”</p><p># # # # #</p><p>“I thought you were going to wait for me to get here before you got changed,” Steve lectured as he crossed towards the bed in the far cubicle.  </p><p>Wearing his suit, his hat and a wide smile, Mike was sitting in the chair.  The overnight bag and empty garment bag were on the bed, ready to go.  “I couldn’t wait,” he chuckled, sounding very much like a kid anticipating his first trip to Disneyland.  </p><p>“I can see that.  You even got your shoes tied.  Did you have breakfast?”</p><p>The older man nodded.  “Umn-humh.  And coffee…”  The last word was spoken without much enthusiasm and Steve smiled.  </p><p>“Don’t worry, there’s plenty of Kona at your place.  I made sure to pick up more last night.”</p><p>Mike beamed.</p><p>“So, ah, the paperwork done?”</p><p>The lieutenant shook his head.  “Not yet..  I tried, believe me.  I thought if maybe I could get it done early, Doctor Graham would let me leave early… but he’s stubborn.”</p><p>“He’s stubborn…?” Steve asked facetiously and his partner shot him a look.  “Right… yeah…”  </p><p>“So who’s picking us up?”</p><p>“Oh, ah, Bill.”  He glanced at his watch.  “We still have a half hour.”</p><p>“Yeah, I know.”</p><p>Steve chuckled.  “I’ll, ah, I’ll see about that paperwork.”</p><p># # # # #</p><p>He opened his eyes onto the darkened room and smiled; he was home.  He had changed out of his suit before he and Steve had a light early lunch, and coffee, then he had retired to his room for a brief nap.  </p><p>He stared at the ceiling, allowing his entire body to sink down onto the bedspread beneath him, the pain from the broken ribs happily under control.  He was trying not to think, about Burke, about the Websters, about little Robbie Goodman… about every horrendous thing that had happened in the past three months.</p><p>And for the first time in his long career, the thought of stepping aside, of pulling the pin and letting someone take his place, was seriously running through his exhausted mind.  He drifted off again, the fatigue that he had been fighting for so long, it seemed, finally beating him down.</p><p>He wasn’t sure how long it was before, from somewhere beyond the deep recesses of his mind, he heard the doorbell ring.  He drifted awake, straining to discern who their visitor was; he knew they weren’t expecting anybody, that he and Steve were hoping for a quiet night.  </p><p>He was turning his head to look at the numbers on the clock/radio when he heard footsteps on the stairs and a brisk knock on the door.  “Mike, you awake?”</p><p>“Ah, yeah…” he managed to get out as he started to slowly sit up.</p><p>“Okay, ah, well, you better get downstairs, okay?”  Steve sounded worried.  </p><p>“Ah, yeah, sure, on my -” he began groggily but the footsteps were already retreating back down the stairs.  Startled, and more than a little concerned, he pushed himself up and reached for the lamp, snapping it on and looking for his shoes.</p>
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<a name="section0096"><h2>96. Chapter 96</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Running a hand through his hair, Mike opened the bedroom door and started down the stairs as fast as he could, trying not to irritate his tender ribs.  There was no sound from the first floor and he wondered if whoever had been at the door had actually stayed.  </p><p>The living room was empty; the light from the table lamp beside the recliner the only illumination.  Frowning as he got to the bottom of the stairs, he turned towards the dark kitchen, his sense of alarm rising.  He was almost at the entrance to the kitchen when the light snapped on and a chorus of “Surprise!” filled the air.  He almost slid to a stop, obviously startled.</p><p>The kitchen was crowded.  Steve was standing at the front, his hand on the lightswitch and a large grin plastered across his face.  Behind him were Haseejian, Healey, Lessing, Tanner, Devitt, Grabowski, and a couple of other Homicide inspectors.  Cassidy and two of his IA detectives were there, as well as Steve’s friends Lemire, Cummings and Cole.  And, most surprising of all, Marc Taylor and Barry King.</p><p>Mike stared, speechless.  Steve took a step towards him, chuckling, knowing his partner would be overwhelmed by what he was seeing.  He patted the older man on the upper arm and nodded back over his shoulder.  </p><p>“Ah, everybody wanted to, you know,” he paused, trying to find another word for ‘celebrate’, which didn’t seem appropriate under the circumstances, “help us commemorate removing a vile and corrupt officer from our streets… and, well, we couldn’t think of a better place or time than here and now.”</p><p>Still grinning at his stunned partner, Steve turned back to face the kitchen, gesturing with his thumbs back over his shoulders.  “All right, everybody out,” he laughed as, chuckling themselves, they starting moving past him and Mike into the living room.  </p><p>They all either slapped the lieutenant carefully on the shoulder as they passed or stopped to shake his hand as he stood there, almost too amazed to move, a small, bewildered smile on his face.  Eventually Steve and Haseejian were the only ones left in the kitchen.  With a broad grin, the Armenian sergeant turned towards Mike with a large mug in his hand and a smug smile on his face.  “I, ah, I heard you’ve been cursing my name most of the summer,” he said with a deep chuckle, holding out the cup.Mike reached out for the mug automatically, his smile suddenly half guilt, half embarrassment.  “Uhm…”</p><p>Haseejian laughed, taking his boss off the hook.  “Well, just so you know,” he leaned forward slightly and opened a bottom cupboard door, “you now have at least a year’s supply of Kona.”  He nodded at several medium-sized paper bags of coffee grounds stamped with the distinctive Kona label.  “Of course, that depends on how many cups you plan on drinking every day…”  He chuckled warmly as he closed the door then stepped past the still surprised older man as he joined his colleagues in the living room.</p><p>Obviously perplexed, Mike stared at his young partner, frowning in disbelief.  Steve smiled.  “Look, the guys have been bugging me for days about seeing you but I wanted to make sure you were okay before, ah, well, you know…. There were still too many things up in the air, I thought, but now that everything seems to be behind us, for the most part, well…”  He gestured towards the living room and the rising decibel level.  “It was actually Roy’s idea to get everybody together.”  His smile wavered slightly as Mike’s expression didn’t change.  “You’re not mad, are you?”</p><p>The older man’s face lit up.  “No,” he said quickly, “no, of course not.  I’m just… a little overwhelmed, that’s all.”  He raised the cup slowly and took a sip.  </p><p>As Steve poured a cup for himself, he chuckled softly.  “Rudy wanted to be here but his daughter and the grandkids are in town for the night and he couldn’t get away.  But he’s here in spirit, he said to tell you”</p><p>Mike was still looking a little shell-shocked.  “They didn’t have to do this -“</p><p>“They wanted to, believe me.  It’s been a rough summer for everybody and I think everyone just wants to let off a little steam.”</p><p>“By drinking coffee?” Mike asked facetiously with a tiny smile.</p><p>Steve smirked.  “The coffee’s for us.  There’s beer and wine and booze in the other room, and everybody’s promised to take cabs home if they get too wasted.”  He nodded at the large grocery bags on the counter.  “They brought snacks too.”  He put the cup down and opened a upper cabinet, taking out a small stack of Jeannie’s mixing bowls.  He glanced over his shoulder.  “Go on into the living room and join our guests.”</p><p>“Uhm, yeah,” Mike nodded slowly, still trying to figure out how they’d managed to get everything into the house, people included, without waking him up; he was kind of proud of them for that.  As he turned and headed slowly out of the room, absent-mindedly clocking the front door closing once more, Lee Lessing brushed past him into the kitchen and the paper bags.</p><p>“Jeez, sorry, Steve, we left you to do all the work,” he laughed as he started to place the large bags of chips on the counter.</p><p>“No worries,” Steve chuckled as he opened one of the bags and dumped the ripple chips into a bowl.</p><p>“Hey, can you smell or taste anything yet?”  Lessing gestured towards his colleague’s nose.</p><p>Steve shook his head.  “Not really, unless it’s really strong.  There’s still a lot of packing in there, but it’s supposed to come out day after tomorrow.  I can hardly wait.”</p><p>Several of the guys were sitting on the stairs, some on the furniture, the rest standing around when Mike wandered into the living room, still trying to process what was going on.  Cassidy, standing on the far side of the coffee table from Devitt and Healey on the couch, turned to Mike with his right hand out.  </p><p>“It’s great to finally see you out of the hospital,” the IA captain smiled as they shook hands.</p><p>“Well, it’s only been a few hours but it feels great.  Anything happen in the last twenty-four hours that I should know about?”</p><p>“Hey!” Devitt interrupted, pointing his raised right index finger in their direction and frowning.  “No shop talk, we promised, remember?”</p><p>Cassidy raised both hands, his beer in his left, in surrender.  “You’re right, you’re right, sorry,” he chuckled and the others laughed.</p><p>“Then what the hell are we gonna talk about?” Healey asked with a snort and they laughed again.</p><p>“How are you feeling, Mike?” Devitt asked, and those nearby fell silent.</p><p>Mike looked around self-consciously.  “Uh, I feel pretty good.  The ribs are still pretty sore, of course, but other than that, I feel good.”</p><p>Steve and Lessing entered the room holding bowls in both hands.  “Excuse me, gentlemen,” Steve said as he pushed his way between Mike and Cassidy to place both bowls on the coffee table while Lessing deposited one of his bowls on an endtable and brought the other one to the guys on the stairs.</p><p>The crowd broke up into smaller groups and there was no dearth of conversation.  Marc Taylor and Barry King were sitting with the group on the stairs that included Lemire, Cummings and Cole, whom eventually, as a group, migrated to the kitchen for another round of drinks.  Steve wandered in and joined them.</p><p>As his friends wandered back into the living room, Steve was just pouring himself another cup of coffee, foregoing a beer because of the medication he was still on, when he was approached by Taylor.  The still recovering lawyer looked almost embarrassed.</p><p>“Uh, Inspector Keller, ah -“ he began tentatively.</p><p>The cop snorted.  “Steve, Marc…. After what we’ve been through?  Steve, all right?”</p><p>Taylor smiled.  “Steve, thank you.”  He glanced over his shoulder at Tanner.  “Bill, can you get…?”</p><p>With a broad smile, Tanner nodded, glancing at Steve with a Cheshire-cat smile before he left the kitchen.  Taylor looked at Steve and shrugged.  “I… I just want to talk to both of you together…”</p><p>“Okay,” Steve said softly, frowning.</p><p>A puzzled Mike followed Tanner into the kitchen, looking from his partner to Taylor and back again as Barry King stepped forward to join them and Tanner leaned against the counter, crossing his arms and grinning enigmatically.</p><p>Mike smiled at Taylor and shook his hand.  “You’re looking a lot better.”</p><p>“I’m feeling a lot better, sir, thank you,” Taylor smiled then froze briefly.  “Mike…”</p><p>The older man chuckled, nodding.  “I’m very happy to see you here tonight.  You played a very important part in taking Sergeant Burke down.”</p><p>Both Taylor and King smiled.  “Thank you, I’m glad we could be of help,” King said with a grin.  “And we’re really glad to know you’re both going to be okay.”</p><p>Taylor nodded.  “Ah, which is one of the reasons we’re here tonight,” he said softly, including his own partner in an affectionate glance as they both smiled warmly.</p><p>The detectives frowned slightly.  Behind them, Tanner’s smile got even wider.</p><p>Taylor slipped his hand into his inside jacket pocket and took out a small envelope.  “Ah, Bill told me that you, Mike, are a big Giants fan, is that right?”</p><p>His frown getting a little deeper, Mike nodded.  “Yeah…”</p><p>Taylor looked at Steve.  “And, ah, that he’s managed to make a ball fan out of you over the years as well, is that right?”</p><p>Glancing at his partner and smiling slightly, Steve nodded softly.  “Yes, he has,” he admitted slowly.</p><p>“Well, good.  Because our law firm owns a box at Candlestick Park.”  Taylor’s smile disappeared slightly and he cleared his throat.  “I, ah, I talked to our managing partners, all three of them, and I told them about what happened…”</p><p>Both detectives frowned, knowing that honesty of that kind could easily cost Taylor his position, and his career.</p><p>The attorney smiled.  “It was a gamble, I know, but I just couldn’t go on living a lie.  Not after all that just happened.”  He looked down and swallowed heavily then looked up at Steve and smiled.  “They listened and then they asked me to leave the room… and I did.  They talked for a long time before they asked me back in.  And then they told me they respected me for my decision and asked me what they could do to help.”  His bottom lip began to quiver and his eyes brightened.</p><p>Mike inhaled sharply, unable to take his eyes from the young lawyer’s face, and he blinked quickly.  Steve smiled and patted Taylor’s arm.</p><p>The attorney cleared his throat.  “Ah, anyway, ah, so I told them I had an idea.  And they listened to me again.”  He raised the envelop in his hand.  “And they asked me to give you this.”  He handed the envelop to Mike.</p><p>Frowning, the veteran detective took the envelop carefully and, as Steve watched, opened it and let the stack of tickets slide out onto his hand.  The frown deepening, he looked back up at Taylor, who was beaming.  “That’s a pair of box seats for all the remaining Giants home games from now till the the end of the season.  I know it’s less than a month away, and they’re not having a great year so they’re not going to make it into the playoffs… so, ah, there’s also a pair of box seats for every 49ers game for their season in there too.”</p><p>Mike looked up slowly from the pile of tickets in his hand, looking stunned and at a loss for words.  Steve stared at him, grinning, and reached out to gently and carefully pat his partner’s back, knowing exactly how much this meant to the older man. </p><p>“You really didn’t need to do this,” Mike said softly when he finally found his voice.</p><p>Taylor grinned and nodded.  “Oh, I know I didn’t have to, Mike… but I wanted to.  And so did my bosses.  They’re very grateful to both of you for what you did… and so am I.”</p><p>“We both are,” King added quietly and Taylor and Mike looked at him warmly.</p><p>Chuckling self-consciously, Mike looked at Steve.  “So, ah, so I guess you and I are, ah, are going to some ball games…”</p><p>Feeling his partner’s hand slide across his shoulder and grip the back of his neck, a connection they both needed at the moment, Steve glanced over his shoulder at Tanner, who was leaning against the counter, his hand over his mouth and his eyes filled with tears.</p>
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<a name="section0097"><h2>97. Chapter 97</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Mike was still reeling from the gift of the box seats when George Cassidy appeared in the kitchen doorway and asked that both partners join him in the living room.  They could tell from the semi-formal request that this was not just a casual invitation and Mike looked at Steve with a wary frown.  Equally confused, the younger man shrugged and shook his head.</p><p>Everyone else had gathered in the living room, standing on both sides and in front of the empty couch and the coffee table, on which there was fairly large rectangular box covered in gold wrapping paper and a big gold bow, and a large paper bag beside it.  A smiling Devitt gestured at the couch.  “Please, have a seat, both of you.”</p><p>Exchanging another cautious look, the homicide detectives slipped behind the coffee table and sat, glancing at the expectant faces around them, all of them smiling broadly.  Mike’s brow furrowed even more but he held his tongue.  Steve, wearing a soft but tentative smile, asked no one in particular, “Ah, so what’s going on, fellas?”  His roving gaze settled on Devitt, who looked pointedly at Cassidy.</p><p>The IA captain stepped closer to the end of the coffee table.  “Mike, Steve, the entire department knows what a hell of a summer you two have had, from your battles with O’Donnell, Mike, to Palmieri beating the crap outa you, Steve, and then him winding up dead -“</p><p>“I didn’t do it,” Steve interjected quickly throwing up his hands in surrender as the others laughed. </p><p>“- to the psychotic Websters,” Cassidy continued with a smirk, “to Walter Northcott, and then taking not one but two crooked cops off the streets.”</p><p>Mike’s eyes widened and he looked at his partner.  “My god, I forgot all about Pettis,” and the younger man nodded.</p><p>“Anyway,” Cassidy continued, “we all know you’re both are on the disabled list for at least another month, which I know, for a fact, is going to drive the lieutenant here totally around the bend.”</p><p>“Oh yeah,” Haseejian began as whispers and murmurs rippled through the assembled and everyone laughed again, including Steve.  Mike shot him a perturbed frown then smiled in agreement, bobbing his head and chuckling.</p><p>“So,” Cassidy raised his voice to quiet the hubbub, “everybody chipped in - and I mean, everybody, including not only the Chief but Judge Reichardt, ADA’s O’Brien and Stevenson, a whole bunch of patrolmen, and everybody from Homicide and IA and even a few guys from Robbery and Missing Persons.”  He smiled warmly.  “You guys have a lot of friends.”</p><p>The two homicide detectives looked uncomfortable so Cassidy continued quickly, looking up at Haseejian and nodding.  The Armenian detective took a step closer and cleared his throat.  “Well, we know you have some of your weekends and evenings busy now, rumor has it,” he glanced at Taylor and King and winked, then leaned over, “but what about those long days with nothing to do?  Well, we think this might help.”  He gestured at the box and nodded.</p><p>The partners looked at each other again then Mike nodded, encouraging the younger man to have at it.  Glancing up at the others with a curious frown, Steve started to tear the side of the paper closest to him, pulling enough away to be able to read the lettering on the box underneath.  He looked up at Haseejian and grinned.  “Are you kidding?”</p><p>The sergeant shook his head, smiling and everyone laughed.  Mike, still in the dark, looked at Steve.  “What is it?”</p><p>He looked sideways at his partner as he continued to rip the paper, almost unable to contain his surprise.  “It’s one of those new video recording machines.”</p><p>“A what?”</p><p>“A video recording machine,” Healey explained, enunciating every word.  “It’s a machine that plays videotapes of movies, and you can record stuff from the television too.”</p><p>Steve had the paper off the top and sides of the box and stood up so he could lift it to get the paper out from underneath.  As he reached for it, both Haseejian and Cassidy grabbed his arms.  “Ah ah ah,” the captain said quickly, “it’s a lot heavier than you’d think.  We don’t want you to hurt those ribs again.  Let Norm do it.”</p><p>The sergeant shot him a glare.  “Gee, thanks,” he mumbled then lifted the box, groaning theatrically.  As Steve pulled the rest of the paper away, he put the box back down with a grunt.  “Portable my ass…. It weighs a ton.”  Everybody laughed.  “Well, it does!” he whined, straightening up, a hand on his back.</p><p>Healey turned to Lessing and Tanner beside him.  “He’s not kidding, it does,” he nodded in agreement.</p><p>Using a key, Haseejian slit the packing tape holding the top flaps of the box together for Steve to open.  The wood-and-silver JVC VCR, a white booklet of instructions and colour-coded cables on top, was wrapped in a thick plastic bag and held in place by styrofoam ‘corners’.  With baleful eyes, Steve looked up at Haseejian again.  </p><p>Muttering, the sergeant straightened up.  “I think it’s time for one of the younger guys to step up -“ he started and, laughing, Lee Lessing elbowed him aside.</p><p>“Here, let me.  Wouldn’t want to see you on the DL either, Norm,” the inspector chuckled as he reached into the box and slid the heavy machine out as Steve held the cardboard box then moved it off the table.  Healey took it and passed it on and it disappeared somewhere in the crowd.</p><p>Steve opened the plastic around the VCR and Lessing lifted it up again.  Finally it was free of everything and sat on the table like a foreign object.  Everyone was staring at it.  </p><p>It was Mike who finally broke the almost reverential silence.  “Does anybody know how it works?”</p><p>“Ah, I do,” came a voice from back of the group and Bob Cole appeared, holding his right hand up like he was in school.  “A neighbor bought one and I helped him set it up.  I can set this one up, if you want.”  He was looking at Mike.</p><p>His eyebrows raised, the homeowner nodded.  “Yeah, sure.  What do you need?”</p><p>Cole smiled as he picked up the VCR and turned towards the TV on the stand in the far corner of the room.  “Just an electrical outlet,” he chuckled as the onlookers parted to make way.</p><p>“Well, while he’s doing that,” Devitt said, everyones attention returning to the area around the coffee table, “I think you should have a look at these.”  He pushed the paper bag closer to Mike.  “After all, what good’s a VCR if you have nothing to watch on it, right?”</p><p>Frowning with a slight smile, Mike opened the bag, looked in, then reached in and started taking out videocassette tapes, glancing at the colourful boxes as he handed them one by one to the young man beside him.</p><p>His eyes widening, Steve started to read the titles out loud.  “‘Casablanca’.”</p><p>Mike smiled wistfully.  “That was my wife’s favorite movie.”</p><p>“‘On The Waterfront’”.</p><p>“Ooo, I like that one.”</p><p>“Ah, Basil Rathbone’s Sherlock Holmes - oh, two in one:  ‘The Hound of the Baskervilles’ and ‘The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes’”  As he read the titles, he was stacking them on the coffee table.</p><p>“‘Charlie Chan’.  Hmm, I’m sensing a theme here…” Steve chuckled as he added the tape to the pile.</p><p>“Hey, there’s a limited library,” Blake Cummings whined good-naturedly from the back of the pack and everyone laughed.</p><p>“Maybe we can watch them closely for some tips,” Mike whispered sotto voce to his partner and everybody laughed again.</p><p>“‘The Maltese Falcon’… ‘The Big Sleep’…” Steve looked up and grinned.  “Wow, these are fabulous.”  Mike reached into the bag and handed him the last two cassettes.  The green-and-black packaging had RCA written on it and S1500.  He frowned.</p><p>“They’re blank, for doing your own recording.  Like if you’re going to go out and wanted to record a ballgame, you can just put the tape in and let it record while you’re gone.  Of course, it only last an hour so you can only record part of the game…”  Healey was trying to be helpful.  Everyone chuckled in empathy.</p><p>Mike smiled at him then glanced up at the assembled group.  He looked at Steve and raised his eyebrows, shaking his head slowly, overwhelmed by the generosity and the love he could feel in the room.  He took a deep breath, hoping to get his emotions under control before he tried to speak.  “Listen, fellas, I don’t know what to say, how to thank you -“</p><p>“No thanks necessary,” Devitt interrupted gently, “believe me.  The past few months have been absolutely brutal for both of you… I’m surprised you’re both still standing, and yet you still managed to close all your cases.  So now, whether you like it or not, you’re on the sidelines until you’re healthy again, and that’s gonna take a few weeks, at least.”  He ginned.  “And we wanted to make sure you weren’t bored so…” he gestured at the VCR and cassettes.</p><p>Haseejian chuckled evilly.  “Yeah, ‘cause we know what happens when Mike Stone gets bored, don’t we, fellas?” he asked to the room at large and the homicide detectives, to a man, and including Steve, all nodded, muttering in agreement.  When the others frowned, he elaborated, miming holding a phone with his right hand.  “What’s going on? What are the new cases?  Who’s following up on this?  Who’s following up on that?  Who’s using my office?” he mimicked as the laughter got louder.  He froze when his roving gaze finally found his boss, who was staring at him through narrowed eyes above pursed lips.  His ‘telephone’ hand dropped slowly and his smile disappeared.</p><p>The laughter in the room gradually and painfully died.</p><p>In the suddenly uncomfortable silence, Mike turned slowly to Healey.  “Who is using my office?”  There was another tense beat before Mike grinned and started to laugh and a split second later, everyone joined in, led by Steve, who reached over to slap his partner on the leg.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>Cole got the VCR hooked up and, with everyone watching, they put the cassette of ‘Casablanca’ in and, transfixed, everyone watched as the passable black-and-white image appeared on Mike’s TV.</p><p>Eventually people started drifting away, some back into the kitchen, into smaller groups, and the decibel level in the house increased so that the voices of Bogart, Bergman and Rains eventually disappeared altogether.</p><p>But the screen still held its magic, and everyone in the room looked at it from time to time.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>Steve was making his way out of the kitchen when he spotted his partner in the recliner, surrounded by several of the others, looking tired and a little out of sorts.  It wasn’t obvious, just something he could recognize.  He slipped up beside the chair and bent over carefully to whisper in his ear, “Are you okay?”</p><p>Mike looked at him with a warm smile and a nod, putting a hand on his stomach.  “Yeah… I’m just tired and a little hungry for something more substantial than chips.  I haven’t really eaten since breakfast.”</p><p>Smiling, Steve patted his shoulder.  “You’re in luck.  There’s pizzas on the way.  Bill just ordered them.”</p><p>“Great,” the older man chuckled.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>He was still in the recliner, listening to the voices of the friends around him, lulled into a peaceful stupor by the magic of the evening.  He put his hands on the arms of the recliner and pushed himself slowly and carefully to his feet, heading towards the kitchen and the prospect of a cold can of ginger ale.  He would’ve preferred a beer but that was not to be for awhile.</p><p>He was halfway to the kitchen when the doorbell rang.  He heard someone yell, “Pizza’s here” as he detoured towards his own front door and turned the knob, idly wondering how some poor pizza delivery boy could’ve staggered up all those concrete steps with enough pizzas to satisfy the hungry mob currently in his house.</p><p>There was a scowling man standing on the stoop and he knew he should recognize him but didn’t right away.  Not before it was too late.</p><p>“You’re not wearing a vest now,” the man said before he raised a gun and pulled the trigger.</p>
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<a name="section0098"><h2>98. Chapter 98</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Mike!…. Mike!”</p><p>He jerked awake, his breath held, his eyes shooting wide, feeling the pressure of his partner’s hand on his chest to reassure him.  He gasped, his mouth snapping open as his lungs screamed for air and his injured ribs protested.  His gaze slowly coalesced on the concerned face hovering above him and the warm smile that was trying to cut through the terror.</p><p>Steve could feel the older man’s chest heaving under his hand and he waited as the blue eyes focused and the tense features softened.  “Burke again?” he asked softly.</p><p>Mike swallowed, nodding.  “Yeah,” he whispered, his breaths starting to deepen and he closed his eyes.  “God damn it…”</p><p>The bad dreams had started the night of the party.  It had been a perfect night, which had ended in the wee small hours of the morning when Tanner and Lessing had finally left after helping start a clean-up, which would eventually take most of the next day to finish.  It was close to dawn when Mike had woken with a start, bathed in sweat, but not remembering what had caused such a reaction.  He had kept the disturbing incident to himself but the next night he had yelled “No!” as he was startled awake and within seconds Steve was in his bedroom, alarmed and worried.  And it was a secret no more.</p><p>“It’s gonna take time,” Steve said practically, sitting up straighter but keeping his hand on his partner’s chest.  “You think you should talk to Lenny?”</p><p>“No.”  The one word was loaded with equal parts derision and fear.</p><p>Steve chuckled softly.  “All right.  I promise I won’t make you call him.”  He felt the older man relax under his touch.  “Then let’s go through it again…. You walk to the door…”</p><p>“Yeah…”</p><p>“And you open it…”</p><p>“Yeah…”</p><p>“And who’s standing there…?”</p><p>“The pizza guy… well, two pizza guys, actually…”</p><p>“That’s right.  And not Burke.”</p><p>Mike inhaled deeply.  “And not Burke.”  He opened his eyes.  “But I see him like he’s standing in front of me… it’s so real…”</p><p>“That’s what makes nightmares so frightening.  When you’re in one, it’s very real.  But you know that Burke is still in custody, right?  Bail was denied…”</p><p>“Yeah,” Mike nodded slowly, “yeah, I know, but my subconscious doesn’t seem to want to believe that, I guess.”</p><p>“Yeah…”. Steve looked at the clock/radio.  It was 4:12.  “Look, ah, try to get back to sleep for a few hours and then we’ll see what kind of a day we can have to really take your mind off everything.  How does that sound?”</p><p>Mike looked up at him with an affectionate smile.  He was more than grateful for the continuing presence of this young man on whom he come to rely more and more over the years.  “I’ll give it a try.”</p><p>“That’s all you can do…”  Steve winked as he got up.  “Sweet dreams,” he chuckled as he started towards the door.</p><p>Mike grinned.  “If only…”  He watched as the younger man left the door open as he disappeared down the corridor back to Jeannie’s bedroom.  He stared up at the dark ceiling, trying to clear his mind, but he knew that was going to take time.  He was angry at himself for allowing this irrational fear to take over his life right now.  He knew it wouldn’t last, but until it finally stopped it was going to make his nights a living hell.  And it wouldn’t help in his recovery.</p><p>It was over an hour before he finally drifted off again, and the sun was well up when he finally awoke.  The smell of coffee was wafting up from the kitchen and he smiled as he turned to look towards the door; it was closed.</p><p>Steve glanced up with a broad grin when he walked into the kitchen in his dressing gown.  “Coffee wake you?”</p><p>Mike chuckled.  “That and the sun.”</p><p>“Well, the sun’s been up for hours so you can’t use that as an excuse.”  </p><p>Mike looked at the clock on the stove:  10:49.  “Good lord, the day’s half shot.”</p><p>Steve got up from the table and crossed to the counter, chuckling.  “Well, it would be if we actually had something to do, don’t you think?”</p><p>“True.”</p><p>“Toast?”</p><p>“Sure, why not?”</p><p>The younger man took out two slices of bread and put them in the toaster.  “I have an idea for today.”</p><p>“Oh yeah, what’s that?” Mike asked as he took a mug out of the cupboard and poured himself a cup of coffee, smiling at the memory of Haseejian’s largesse.</p><p>“Well, how about early this afternoon we drive over to Baker’s Beach and take a long, leisurely stroll in the sand, get some fresh air and all that, then head over to the Park.  It’s game night.  We can get there for batting practice, have ourselves some dinner and watch the game.”</p><p>Mike looked at him from the corner of his eye, smiling slyly.  “Is that your way of trying to tire me out so I’ll sleep through the night… like a baby?”</p><p>“You got a better idea?” the younger man chuckled.</p><p>Mike frowned comically.  “Well, no…”</p><p>“So…?”</p><p>“So… I think it’s a great idea.”  The toast popped and he took the two slices out of toaster, glancing at his partner with a warm and affectionate smile.  If there was anyone in this world that he could count on no matter what, the young man standing in the room with him was that one.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>It turned out to be a perfect day.  It was sunny but the chill in the air blowing in from the Bay was enough to make jackets a necessity, a need that doubled when they got to the ballpark.  Even in their box, it was a brisk night and they wrapped their hands around the large mugs of stadium coffee as they watched the Giants pull out a rare win in an otherwise dismal season.  </p><p>There was a message from George Cassidy on the answering machine when they returned to the De Haro house.  Without getting into specifics, he said they had tracked down Burke’s accomplice and would explain more in a phone call when it was convenient.  Mike made a mental note to call him first thing in the morning before heading to bed after the very full day.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>He was sitting in the recliner, listening to the murmurs of the voices around him, smiling at the warmth in the room.  He was thirsty, and pushed himself up from the chair to head towards the kitchen.  The doorbell rang and someone yelled, “Pizza’s here!”  He walked the few steps to the door and turned the knob.  The decibel level of the voices in the room behind him rose to a ear-shattering pitch as he opened the door.</p><p>Two young men, their arms laden with pizza boxes, were standing on the stoop, grinning at him.  With his own relieved smile, he took a step back to allow them into the house as Tanner came running forward, waving the cash in his hand and laughing.</p><p># # # # #</p><p>Mike was sitting at the kitchen table, reading the newspaper, when a bedraggled Steve stumbled through the entrance.  “Wow,” he said softly, “you look worse than I do for a change.  Did you sleep?”</p><p>“Uhm, yeah, but not well, I think.  I was, ah, well, you know…”</p><p>“Listening for me, hunh?  Well, just so you know, I’m pretty sure I did have one of those dreams last night, but if I’m remembering correctly, this time when I opened the door, the pizza guys were there…”  He grinned, bobbing his eyebrows.</p><p>Steve frowned slightly.  “Are you serious?”</p><p>With a tight nod, Mike chuckled.  “Very serious.  No Burke, just pizza.”</p><p>“Well, ah, congratulations.”</p><p>“Thank you.”  Mike took off his glasses and tossed them on the paper.  “Bacon and eggs?”</p><p># # # # #</p><p>“Cassidy.”</p><p>“Hey, George, it’s Mike.  You left a message last night?”</p><p>“Yeah.  Thanks for getting back so quick.  I kinda thought you would,” the IA captain chuckled.  “How are you guys doing?</p><p>“Just great, thanks.  Steve gets the cast off his nose later today so that’s good news.  We’re both coming along.  So what’s your news?”</p><p>“Well, that composite that Barry King was able to supply us with turned out to be exactly what we needed.  And it also turned out that Burke’s accomplice wasn’t anyone connected with law enforcement, which is one good thing about all this, I guess.  We didn’t need another crooked cop, did we?”</p><p>“No, we sure didn’t.  So who is it?”</p><p>“One of Burke’s cousins.  Can you believe that?  Nice family, eh?”</p><p>“Salt of the earth.  Is he in custody?”</p><p>“We picked him up last night.  He doesn’t have a record, just a couple of speeding tickets and some parking tickets.  Gerry’s going to charge him with assault for intimidating Barry King during the Taylor beating, but he’ll probably get off with probation unless we can tie him to any of the other shakedowns.  And if we can do that, we’re hoping to get him to turn on his cousin for a lighter sentence.  I have a feeling we’ll be working on this case for awhile yet.  But the more shit we can get on Burke, the better.”</p><p>“There’s no chance of him getting out on bail, is there?”</p><p>“Who, Burke?”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“None whatsoever.  Why?”  The concern in Cassidy’s voice was obvious.</p><p>“Oh, no reason, just curious.”  Mike tried to sound casual.</p><p>“Okay.  So, you guys enjoying that new-fangled machine of yours?”</p><p>Mike laughed.  “We sure are.  Watched one of those Sherlock Holmes movies the other night but we’ve been busy since then.  The Giants are in town so… you know…”  The joy came across the phone line and Cassidy chuckled.  </p><p>“Well, you two enjoy it, and the games.  You deserve it, both of you.”</p><p># # # # #</p><p>Steve moved back home a few days later.  Things had settled down and they were on the mend.  They still met for ballgames and walks on the beach, and when the Giants were out of town, they shared dinners and each others company.</p><p>It was a particularly cold and windy day and they were strolling silently across the sand in silence, each wrapped in their own thoughts.  Mike was a few steps behind his partner, watching the handsome young man stride down the beach with a confidence he knew he didn’t feel at that age.  He smiled to himself.  The people you love change you, he thought, and if you were really lucky, it was for the best and it was mutual.  He hoped that that was the case with them.  He knew he had been changed for the better; he had no idea how Steve felt.</p><p>The younger man looked over his shoulder and smiled.  He slowed his stride, allowing his partner to catch up then looked at him sideways, still grinning.  “So, do you know what day it is?”</p><p>Frowning in surprise, Mike shook his head.  “Do you mean the date?”</p><p>“Uhm-humh,” Steve nodded, the wind whipping his hair.</p><p>The older man chuckled.  “I have no idea.  I know it’s Monday and there’s no ballgame tonight.  Does that count?”</p><p>Laughing, Steve shook his head.  “It’s the 23rd.”  He paused, waiting.  When there was no response, he continued.  “Doesn’t ring any bells?”</p><p>Mike made a face, shaking his head.  “Not a ding or a dong.  Why?”</p><p>Slowing down even more so he was shoulder to shoulder with his partner, Steve leaned into him.  “It’s the autumnal equinox…” he said with a knowing nod.</p><p>Mike looked at him with a soft frown then smiled, his eyes widening.  “If you mean it’s the first day of fall, then does that also means that summer is finally over?” he asked quietly.</p><p>Steve nodded.  “Uhm-humh.”</p><p>The older man threw his head back and grinned.  “Hallelujah,” he laughed as his partner took a step sideways, knocking him temporarily off-balance and chuckling.  Recovering, Mike threw an arm around the younger man’s shoulders and pulled him close in a quick hug.  </p><p>Still laughing, they continued down the beach, Mike’s hand on the back of Steve’s neck, gently shaking him, somehow knowing the difficulties of the summer were well and truly behind them.  And not only had they survived, they had triumphed.</p><p> </p><p>Thank you everyone who had the patience to hang in there and read this entire encyclopedia (or so it felt!).  It’s been as long haul and I need to take a break of indeterminate length before I will be heading off on another adventure with our boys.  And many thanks to my faithful reviewers (you give me inspiration - and you’re so sharp, you never miss a trick!) who hung in there.<br/>Everybody stay safe and we will meet again, somewhere on The Streets of San Francisco.</p>
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